


Fallen Angel

by MyDaedricGravemind



Category: Assassin's Creed Syndicate - Fandom
Genre: F/M, I am the first shipper of Crawvie-trademarked and copyrighted lol, Intense tensions unresolved and some resolved, Offerings, THIS WORK IS NOT ABANDONED-Editting in Progress, Violence, deep emotional manipulation, forceful physical advancment, resisting stockholm syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-05-13 12:20:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 55,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5707909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyDaedricGravemind/pseuds/MyDaedricGravemind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The desparate fight beneath Buckingham Palace against Grand Master Crawford Starrick in the depths of an Eden Crypt for the salvation of London goes terribly wrong...</p><p>And after it all...</p><p>"-True death is not the chilling or stilling of the body, I have come to realize, but rather a termination of the essence inside it-a corruption and consumption of the soul- that gives it life..."<br/>~Grand Lady Eveline Cecily Starrick~</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Game of Wit and Will

 

 

Eveline Frye's Journal Entry 1869 (one year after the Buckingham Palace Ball)

 

~

 

_I had always thought myself a perfect assassin._

_In training, through practice, my whole life as I grew was born in me the desire to be the best and the only best at that. The whole world lay unconquered before me, ready to be annointed with my oath and blood. I wanted so much to achieve all for the sake of the Creed, my father-the name Frye-and so I was blinder then a man without eyes. I kept any doubts of mine, fears, things that might have made my stomach clench or my throat tighten-it mattered little-I locked it all away and out of sight in the little library of my mind; tucked away like a forgotten book so that Evie Frye would not be bothered with somthing so delicate, so frivilous as a conscience-at least where the decrees of the Counsel were concerned. Before me, my whole life, was painted like a momorial by the Counsel, my own father, that if I were to be as he had been! That mad hope, which by the pieces of Eden-were the promise of glory and renown. For me trully becomeing Known as a force to be reconned with was far too tempting an apple to disregard..._

_And so we went. Jacob would never have gone without me, he needs my aquiecence to do anything serious because he knows I will know how to get him out of it should things go awry._

_And so I did._

 

_I remember what I first knew of Crawford Starrick; that he was a cruel, heartless Templar-mercilessly bent on ruling the world. (and in most ways I still believe that, its just...less and less clear to me when I try to debate my rights and his wrongs)_

_He was evil; a conscienceless man who diserved a conscienceless death for all the harm, suffering and neglect that he had wrought on the deprived citizens of London. And who would do it but I! Through my masterful disection on his perfect city, I- Evie Frye- would bring it down around him and on his knees he would beg for his life-and as my blade exited his bleeding throat he would have a moment longer to lie before me, humbled that his Empire was taken by a young Creed keeper, a woman of barely twenty-none the less-and she would graciously sweep her hankerchief across his throat as a testimony to her truimph. Wouldn't father be proud?_

_The Creed would then fly free in the winds of the City of Light, and all before her would be open and boundless, like a hawk in the breeze. (I scoff) A picture too perfect, and for an assassin who believed herself so-who would not listen to any arguement against her- she would just take that and any similiar thought and shelf it in her mind's library, shutting any down who argued with dagger sharp words, to then bury herself in her books, research and history again. Jacob had always accused her of dwelling in the past, which of course she refuted and threw back in his face, because it was HE who lie there-not her- she used the past to glean a glimpse of truth and revelation into the future-and he only used it to complain of his own self pitied situation. The truth could hardly be farther from it._

_(I am sorry, Jacob, for every scorning word I delt you. You, of all, did not deserve them.)  
_

_I had used my zeal, wit, and every available resourse to bend the course of history into my favor, because I was going to find the Shroud no matter the consequences. Nothing was going to stand in the way of my father's lifelong desire and my resolution to fulfill it; as always, the world was going to bend to the will of Evie Frye. And it did. But Fate has a way of balencing the scales; tip it too far your way and you will shortly discover that you were never the one in control._

_..I suppose I am trying to tell you what happened and how it happened or what is even happening now or even further what I am about to allow to happen but I just keep getting caught up in my wretched thoughts. Forgive me please, as now I will get to the point._

 

_(sigh) I can hardly bear to recall~_

 

  _1868- a short day short of exactly one year ago today, the day of our former Queen Victoria's Ball.(God rest her soul) That day my efforts were paying off, I had already made a name, contacts, dependants and admirers and believed my hold strong. Jacob and I were to part because we had grown too far apart in our desires and ambitions and so it was just better that we sever our ties, grow up and set out on our own. I wore a dreadful scarlet gown, the color of the blood I was so eager to spill, for I hadnt discovered in myself the loss of desiring an honorable death for the victim of my blade yet, how it had rather become more a thirst for their blood then in justice for their every wrong; it was retrabution for the innumrabal frustrations they continued to heap upon me. The dress I scorned, a disgusting lady's garb and hated every moment I spent in it. It somehow brought me low, made me less before the eyes of others-before Jacob...before Starrick, such a hinderance to my abilities. I was so full of pride and purpose._

_Completly beside myself after our visceral carraige ride, rift with bitter biting words that wounded the souls of the sparrers, Jacob and I departed with simmering disgust for each other and determination; feelings redoubled as I began to notice the subtle threads of Fate unwinding itself before me, warning me of the dangers that my solitary methods were endangering. Do you think I listened? (I scoff again)_

_No._

_The party was gay and the guests already tipping their hats in intoxicated glee; the music bloisterous and the company ignorant as he suddenly gripped my hand and demanded-oh so politly-for that fateful dance of wills. We danced with foot and word as he spelled before me the idea that he-of all people and a Grand Master Templar at that- perhaps wished to change the world for the better, that he was willing in a self sacrificing way to be the one who would cause such pain and want, such pity and poor circumstance that this station would cause to descend on all, for the future promise of good. He claimed-in that perhaps-I understood him wrongly. Did I? Was anything so simple as I wished all to be? Is anything trully black and white once we've lived in this world long enough to began to discover other colours in it? Another book I shelved away-to this day I wish I had burned it._

_It started to unwind. I remember pressing the map to the Shroud's Crypt into Jacob's fingers, making him take it and rushed him on to try to beat Starrick to the Shroud-_

_The horrid dress abandoned with the unholiest satisfaction, I - an Assassin again - bolted after my brother for fear of reaching too late! The thought of failure unbearable-_

_The dense wood a blur of rain, green growth (I thought briefly of Henry, raging a form of prayer that he be safe and out of harm's way) and Starrick's men stood no chance. I was unstoppable._

_Then there he was- my brother on his knees at Starrick's vile mercy! "Jacob!" I raged agian and tore forward, my wrath having never met an obstacle that hadnt crumbled away in it's wake- my will agian was set, but so was Fate's._

~

 

Evie swept herself swiftly aside and away from Starrick's rays reach, her brother comprimising his mobility. Jacob's face was colourless in the unnatural glow of the Shroud, his eyes wide with fear, his teeth grit and his voice groaning in desparate pain. Was it's power draining his life from him??? She would not let it get any farther.

At her approach, Starrick uses the tremendous power the Shroud has alotted him and explosivly casts Jacob backward in a fiery glow far away back against the entrance wall. She heard his cry at the landing but steeled herself from looking backward and just dove into the offensive, gripping her cane sword with both hands she screamed and swung it at Starrick's head and followed swifty after with a furious set of attacks fueled by her brother's injuries and need. Starrick defended himself, grunting from her fury, combating her with his greater strength forcing her to redouble her attacks in response, drumming her cane sword against him again and again, as it was her job now to fix this mess and make sure once she struck Starrick down he would not rise again.

Shouting "The Shroud was never meant for you!" She drives her blade fatally into his stomach-he lurches forward with a wet grunt but doesnt go down- instead the Shroud glows briefly and he after a moment he straightens back, teeth bared primally- to her utter amazement- and shouting he strikes across her jaw stunning her. He then grasps her by her own throat, and she crys out, her face transforms from pain to fear as she feels a great draw in her strength causing her head to swim and tingle and finds herself paralized as if spellbound. The great, gloried power of the Shroud undoing her and drawing her very life-

 

~

_I had never known such power, or rather I had never felt so powerless. I had no means to defend myself and for once I was entirely dependant...I have realized how lothfully I hate it and yet relish it; the feeling of being in the complete power of another. Odd thoughts again, forgive my account-_

~

 

Jacob-God bless him!- came out of nowhere and barreled into the Grand Templar. Starrick, frustratingly, only barely stumbles before mirroring his previous action and instead of Jacob, tosses Evie pathetically away. She heard her brother's shouts of rage and bloodlust as he assaulted Starrick but lost all account once her head struck solid against the cobble pillar before the doorway...

...Coming to, Evie moaned and rose to her feet. How long had she been so? She looked ahead and saw the scene as if she had done nothing- there Jacob was again with Starrick's bloody hands around his throat, wringing him to death. Evie screamed threw her teeth and again raged towards them; the sight of her twin, her other half of life fighting helplessly to preserve his own, purged any thoughts of glory or honour right out of her mind; She had only one thought and it was to spill the blood of this wretched demon of a man-

"Mr. Starrick!" Evie shouted coming at him full speed.

Starrick again threw her brother without another thought and she herself didnt even spare Jacob one. His arms open with arrogance so drunk with power was he, that she just launched a stomp kick into his abdoman, grinning viciously at his grunted bellow, punishing him for the ill wrought against her brother's flesh. She taunts him as she follows with swift, nasty blows.

"You forgot- to escort- me home!" Her cane sword lost after he had flung her, she was armed with her 'brass knuckles' and with them she beat at him with a blood thirsty fury but unfortunatly he only seemed darkly amused and deftly blocked her with forearm and shoulder and more effectivly the longer they dueled. Her teeth clenched in desparation, breath pushing in and out between them as she wrenched against his defense and will. She had to blink away the sweat beading above her eyes and so just missed the fist that smashed into her cheek- before she was aware of what had even just happened- Starrick's iron grip was squeezed around her sore jaw again. "Then let me rectify my mistake!" He bellowed and the strength of the power drawing at her doubled. She gasped helpless against the pain that drew for long, intense moments, till it grew unbearable and with a last effort she shouted and struck at him again. He easily blocked her futile attempt just as Jacob roared to the rescue- and was immediatly struck and grasped in her mirror image.

Starrick growled loudly, raising them higher almost off of their feet. "Get. Out. Of. My. City..!"

He is inturupted by Henry's dagger that suddenly plunged into his shoulder, and his head is reflexivly thrown back as he bites out a cry from the surprise of the sudden wound. Glaring, Starrick hurls Evie backward once more to the opposing wall beyond then wrenches the blade free from his flesh with the hand now freed from the inhibition of the young Frye's throat. Jacob, still in his power, struggles one more time in an effort to distract the Grand Master Templar, and thus allow Henry a killing blow; but it is in a cruel fit of irony that he is countered by Henry's very blade, which now, in the hands of the Templar is- with a savage blow-plundged into Jacob's robed stomach.

Jacob crys out in more surprise then pain, despite his efforts it takes with what little strength he had left by the shroud's doing. His face is wide with the shock of the wound as he had never before tasted so grave a hurt. The Assassin feebly struggles in his grasp before Starrick tears the blade free, illiciting another cry from the young Frye before, just as his sister was, he is cast aside. Starrick now faces Henry, the drainings of the poor Frye's blood showered over the floor, and at the Templar's victorious feet.

The captured blade used to his advantage, Starrick blocks the exiled Assassin's immediate attacks with vicious and brutal abandon, stunning Henry with sheer power- striking over and over again, his blows in terrible succession- until he ripes a terrible gash in the Indian's shoulder and forearm just as Henry attempted to block with his hidden blade. Henry lurches, himself shocked, for only a moment before Starrick brings down a mighty blow that buffetes Henry violently to the stone floor. He does not rise again.

Starrick turns to face the fallen Evie. "Is this all you can do?" He sneers triumphantly. "The efforts of mere children, each suffer the same fate without mercy...I _shall_ have my paradise!"

Evie grunts from where she had just managed to stand, holding her side. Faceing him as the horror of her brother's state and Henry briefly flashing over her anger flushed features, she ground her teeth shouting back in turn. "By my blood and oath I shall never let you!" Whipping out her sidearm, she thrust it at him and blew all six of the shots from the flaming chamber at his beating heart. She was going to destroy him!

Starrick took them all straight on, his confidence in the divine power of the Shroud unbelievably- unfailing. The shots tore through him, causing him to merely stumble back, before he could recover quickly enough Evie was there and with all her strength, screaming, she strikes at him with Henry's gift to her; her first Kukri. She swipes the blade over his flesh again and agian, stabbing into him viciously, her hidden blade drinking his blood heartily, her kukri biting deep. Unrelenting, she does not stop. He keeps stepping backward from the ferocity of her blows and the wounds she is dealing him, yet he remains on his feet. Long moments passed her onslought but in her efforts, she starts to slow...becoming fatigued. _That_ had never happened-her strength had never failed her before-but she was battleing a madman-embelished as a god with a garment divine-

A god who would not DIE.

Lord Starrick started to take her blows in stride and before long began deflecting and then directly blocking them. She swung and swept her blades in the smoothest succession and they AUGHT to have brought him down-but-they simply no longer reached him. Panting she gave her all at the last swipe, which he brutally bashed downward with greater force then was nessessary-her forearms bruising horribly from his defensive blow- causing her to cry out, struck to the floor. Jacob, from where he lay, made a move as if trying to come to help her but his wound forced him to stop, moaning loudly. Henry still did not move.

Starrick threw up his hands, as from him and the shroud about his shoulders- "Let the father of knowledge, drown in shame the vanquished heads of the Order-may your blood sate their cowardly thirst!"- A great light then exploded out and engulfed the whole of the room-

Evie frantically looks to Jacob and he to her, just as the ceiling and pillars are dashed apart by the glowing power of the piece of Eden and all, in a thunderous rumble, shatters above them and rains down from the heavens.  
The twins scream each others name before they are engulfed in rubble-with only the last glow of the Shroud and the silhouette of Starrick standing against its only light...

 

~

 

Evie chokes herself painfully awake, the deafening thunder of stone and the curtain of plummed dust coated her throat and nostrals thickly. "Ja-" She chokes amoment longer, trying to free herself by fidgeting under the cobble atop her. She casts her eyes about frantically, searching for her twin in the shallow light. Her eyes find only crumbled stone pieces half hidden, swathed in clouds of moldy dust- wait.

She makes out the departing form of a gold Shrouded man, exiting through the mouth of the grand room, retreating to the surface.

Starrick!

She cant let him leave with the Shroud-she cant! He'll destroy everything!

Struggling painfully out of the pinching, crushing stone, Evie extricates herself just to hear her brother's pained breath gasp, her head jerking to the sound. "Jacob?!" She falls upon the rubble, searching for sight or sound of him. "Jacob-are you there?! Say somthing-"

He gasps again. "Starr-" And yelps as she leans on a cobble too much.

"Jacob-" Thank God he's alive! Good! But now-no time- "I have to stop him-do you hear me? I _will_ come back for you-but I have t-"

"-go." Is all he manages before he is taken with another fit of strained coughs. She nods though he can see nothing and stands dutifully. 'And Henry?! No-' she cant afford to think about him now...

Her own injuries are nothing. She can only think of Starrick-and how he must die...

 

~

_I should have been the wiser, should have tryed to think my way through, as I always had, but instead I was blinded by Jacob's and Henry's spilt blood...and the thought that they may be still in death..._

_I was going to bring Starrick down myself. At any cost._

~

 

Evie raced up after Starrick even as he fled the unstable structure. Emerging from the entrance he had turned round to face her, almost mockingly.

She drew herself up the last step and cradles her side for one more breath before she forces herself to straight then calls after him daring. "So you flee as a coward-O Mighty Starrick? Have you no honor left to claim in facing me honestly?"

He scoffs, throwing his arms wide as if to welcome her then audaciously turns away from her declaring. "Me? Coward?? What honor have the Assassins ever possessed Miss Frye..they lurk in dark places and shrink like children from every great challenge, prefering instead of honesty to cower and would rather wait a millenia for all opposition to pass away."

His words stung her pride but she remained silent-focused-as he continued, now with a newly calm and composed demenor.

"But you- are but one of their pathetic puppets and with divine ease I shall cut every last one of you down...The Shroud assures me of that much. All, is now by given right and heritage mine; to take without hinderence..."

She answered him with the harsh scrape of her ejecting blade, and with a brisk inhale rushed at his back; at the last moment he spun with ease out of her path of attack and then with arms low and loose he merely swayed and moved away, dodging her attacks. He forced her to over extend and reach farther and farther, leading her in a tight circle-as if they were sharing another reluctant dance, without touch, without feeling but broiling with a passion and intimacy that is the inescapable product of two entwined in the dance of death.

He allowed her twice to get close enough to touch him and then punished her with a cruel back hand that cast her away once she took the chance. Twice she rose again and faced him agian, unable to see the ring of Blighters and corrupt Constables gathering around them to watch.

Standing before her indefeatable, Starrick mocks her again in a low whisper. "Had enough blood yet, _Assassin_?"

Evie stands on unsteady legs, panting deep, rasping breaths, her teeth grit fiercely.

His face twists at her stubborn silence. "Very well, Miss Frye. Are you ready to face death?"

She tenses, his only warning. "I am not the one who should be concerned with death-" Her hand slips inside her torn jacket and quick as a sparrow she hurls her last weapon at him. Her throwing dagger.

Its speed and precision surprise him, the whites of his eyes flashing for a moment before it burries itself in his throat, his blood spurting across his neck and chin.

With the last of her strength, Evie rushes Starrick-this was the last chance she had!

But Starrick roars and casts his hands out towards her, his palms brilliantly bright-

Evie's blinded eyes try to squeeze shut instinctually but she forces them open, throwing her own arm at him; her second dart, towards his heart-

The light struck her physically, like taking a mad rushing carriage of steel full on. She cryed out as her body was blast backward, through brush and branch straight into the abrasive trunk of a tree. Her back tears in fire-she has never felt so much all at once, her legs and arms flushing hot and then cold.

She doesnt even feel her face strike the ground.

 

~

_I can only assume you have guessed how this turned out. I am ashamed and yet proud of my stance I took; foolish to say the least, brave to say the most. I regret nothing and yet everything...how is that even possible?_

~

 

Starrick had her brought to his temporary residence, every piece of her gear stripped of her, then herself laid in a bed called her own. She woke in great pain and little thought. An entire week passes in rushes and flashes of nausia and electric thrilling pain as the doctor tends to her. He gently prods and touches her back, ignorantly consoling her.

"It is a miracle you are not without the power of your legs..."

She cannot speak, and just swallows the laundnum he gives her and closes her watered eyes. It is almost a month before he allows helps her out of her bed, her steps are weak and unsteady...

Starrick decides to visit then and inquires after her health. Scorning she stands straighter, straining her new health.

"So eager to resume our last engagement, Templar?"

A small smile eases over his hawklike features in answer...

 

~

 

Once she is well enough to walk without aid, she discoveres her new boundries. Every level of the building filled with his templar guards, she is given only gowns to wear and in every respect, treated-to her confusion and frustration-as a lady...

Albiet a dangerous one.

She was not allowed anymeans to arm herself or given the opportunity to try, her every movement well monitered, hardly any privacy given and even the windows were barred. She was never alone and most often, Starrick himself, was her keeper.

She asks briskly. "Why do you bother? What do you want from me?"

When questioned or accused, he would not answer her directly and in his confident calm she felt fear and much rage. She and those she stood for had suffered such a brazen defeat, it was crushing. His new power could be usurped by none. Much of what he spoke was richly saturated with his victory- he was now Imperial ruler of all of London. The Queen, he informed her to her own horror, had been assassinated as well as her entire cabinet...all heads of church and state had been taken into custudy and had otherwise 'dissapeared' for good and she had not a word as to the conditions of Jacob and Henry. She struggled to contain herself.

When she heatedly demanded of him their fates and what had become of them, he only implied that should she overtly ire him, they would be the ones to suffer for it. They were comfortable...per the moment...so if she wished it to stay as such then she would do well to behave herself and respect him. His commanding blue eyes met the pale of hers but she could do nothing; nothing but seeth in helpless rage.

~

The next month's news of the city's plight was grave to the ears of the hostage assassin; the Rooks now without a leader, as it were, had scattered after the first few gang wars. They had taken into hiding and were slowly being hunted down, and any taken prisoner were interrorgated for any assassin sympathizers identity's and whereabouts. Evie herself was oppositly tortured by inactivity, imprisoned by idleness, and cornered in tongue and presence by Lord Starrick himself. He made it so that every day she was exposed to his ideals and steadfast beliefs. He would often bring up a subject of contradiction and as much as she hated it he was very good at working her up in defense of her belief's and convictions, his wishes seemingly to enlighten her to a deeper study of herself and motives and often times revealing unsetteling realisations and self doubts. The Assassins, their life's purpose, the sacred rights of The Order itself.

" _Why_ do they kill?

"Did you, ever question who they wanted dead or why?

"Can an order based on death and baptized in blood claim rightiousness or redemption in the eyes of the people?

"Why are they a secret order?

"Do they fear the consciences of the people the claim to protect-that they may rise up and denounce them for what they are..."

She defended herself heatedly, none the less, though he never grew angry with her. He didnt tolerate her sharp tongue, however, and would expertly counter it with tone, volume of voice or would close himself upon her person and whisper his rightous retorts into her blushing ear. At first she thought it nothing but intimidation; her foresight and wisdom slowly abandoning her.

~

Over time, however, his intentions began to show themselves in the light. She was _pressed_ to share dinner and supper with him where more discussions took place. His words laced in the poison of confident surety and unflinching truth, as well as his knowledge of the Creed and his own Templars made him a visceral opponant of word. He was older and wise, where as she was young and zealous. She carried her pride and strength and battled couragiously against him, his truth vs her own, his methods vs her's etc.

He would have himself rule the world and crush any oposition, she would construct a careful society and guard its people.

He would rule with his fist, she would with a stern but helping hand.

He lived for the greatest of humanity and would see the rise of the powerful at the sake of those less. The less serving the strong and the strong getting stronger for it- for humanity.

And she would see the poor taken care of and sheltered, then taught to raise themselves to a higher standing and standard of living. That the whole of the world may benifit and grow stronger for it- for the people.

She expressed it so, after an exhausting exchange that had lasted past the fourth hour in the morning.

"We shall ever be in opposition, Starrick, we are fools to try to convince the other otherwise."

A given moment, he merely answered, quietly. "Yes, I suppose you are correct."

She had the feeling in her gut, he would only press the stronger.

 

~

 

Three months later, found the streets vacant of Rooks. There were no more Blighters to be sure, either, but instead the streets were teeming with Templar payoffs and corrupt constables agian; as if she, Jacob and Henry had done all for nothing! With the chance of an occasional word overheard she had nothing but what she was given from Starrick. He made himself her only source of news and left her no other choices. To fill the long lengths of time in a day, besides angrily pacing rings in the carpet, she had only music from a fine piano and reading to bide her time and the occasional sketch she had the patience to sit still and draw. The only books then availiable were of politics,  basic (warped) templar related history and the prized, more edifying novels of observation and human study. She set to read them all to ease herself, and often the Lord of London would sit across from her, his object of severe attention. Without a care of the passing time, he would silently watch her motionless, rigid figure and her fierce flying eyes as they devoured the pages of her victimized literature.

He would watch her.

And she would pretend she didnt feel him doing so...

 

~

_The sessions where moments like these between us took place happened more and more frequently as time carried itself painfully on._

_~_

 

Five months after the Overthrow of Queen Victoria, the city's steel plants, construction, modes of transportation and such were booming in business. The factories were filled again with run amoke orphans and even the homeless in the forsaken alleys of the boroughs were herded into the smoke filled sheds of slavery, all for the promise of a meal and a place to sleep off the street and what better then for the cause of furthering the greatness of humanity. Evie argued for their sakes, that the conditions under which they were forced to work aught to be amended. Starrick only reminded her calmly that she was _currently_ in no position to argue or petition anything-but left it open as if she had a hidden hope in the future...

He saw plainly she could not bear the burden of inaction for very long.

~

And as their time together continued and enlongated, she grew _more_ anxious.

He was beginning to get to her, in small ways. Relentless, his lectures growing more elaborate, exhaustingly so that she had ceased to argue any longer. He would now speak to her very softly, as if he could frighten her away, like a dove. She hated it. But he knew his work, and was patient in it, for _if_ she found her voice to raise against him in her own defense, he would raise his own louder, more insistantly and silence her. He had begun to stand closer to her when they conversed and had taken to careful, regretless touches to her hand, arm and shoulders. He would then during their heated arguement bore his gaze down into her own and bring the full bearing of his masculinity upon her in tone and presence. And so she found, to her disgust, in the months of gentle handling that she had grown soft. These moments grew to intimidate her and in foolish, defensive response she began to bite at him, her words full of spite and little thought behind them. She was trying to hurt him, to drive him away and he saw this weakness in her; the beginnings of desparation and how he had worn on her. To which he pressed even harder, seeking her out. He began pursuing intimate advances upon her which she rejected with too much strength to be genuine disgust or disinterest.

It was true desparation. Fear of him and his truths.

He was making sense in the most horrid of ways to her and his words-even worse then death-were setting roots in her mind. She was ever thinking about the truth of him and in self preservation, and disgust in herself, she began to strike out at him whenever she could or when he came too close. He was more then her match now and with ease he overcame her futile attempts. He continued, recognizing this, until one day she repelled him too violently causing him to make bold physical contact.

Starrick immediatly pressed her firmly against the study wall with his own body, subdueing her feet by stepping on the front of her gown, his gloved hands gripping her twisted arms with his mad strength.

"Enough, Starrick! Remove yourself from me-!" She seethed threw clenched teeth, offended by his proximity and sick of how a part of her lurched inside and grew warm. She wrenched at his hold in vicious bursts.

He ground back, firming his hold. "You will be _still_ , Eveline-."

The warm grew _hot_. "-I will  not. _You_ will remove yourself."

" _You_ -" His position rendered her motionless, his lips whispered soft upon her brow. "-will _**be** **still**_..."

The more violent her struggles, she discovered, the more violent his advances-and so the game continued.

Weeks.

Till she stopped fighting him with body and instead attempted silent indifference and tolerence. He would try to sooth the internal agony he saw so plain in her features with words as honey, wasting nothing on pointless flattery but rather he chose his words carefully and thus continued to bare her soul mercilessly before her with raw truth, attempting to teach her the error of her ways.

 

~

_He was so patient with me, as if he truly cared. I didnt think he did but the doubts as to whether my oppinions could be trusted anymore were already in question. I had begun to secretly listen to him, I could not help it-no matter how muched I wished I to not..._

~

 

Thus, the sixth month of her capture passed and things had become routine, his part and her's, an unending dance-

 

He stood in'centre. A goblet of wine in his hand with the other crossed behind him relaxed as he subjected a fine portriet to his examination-or as it seemed to her, his object of observation and reflection. The silece was drawn on to the extent that she was about to offer a subject of her own for them to deliberate when he suddenly spoke-

"Have you ever wondered why the Order sent no one to retake London, Miss Frye? Why they left only a poor exile to guard it in their interests...and _allowed_ all that took place to be?"

She sighed quietly, wishing this game of their's to end. She was so weary and felt no escape for herself, fearing this to be her eternity. All her many doubts and uncounted thoughts, left alone too long, she had already been tearing at the peace of her mind and soul, collapsing in on herself. 'If Jacob were here, would he even recognize me?' The greatest question in the world poised to her by Starrick was one she had resigned herself to except would never be answered.

Why. Why, was always the answer that ever eluded the seeker. This duo of their's would not end, not for her- she must endure.

She met his gaze bravely, stubbornly. Uncertainly. "I, will not presume the will of-"

"-So you follow your Creed blindly?"

Her jaw was sore from clenching. "..no."

"Then you have thought of this?"

Her slow answer was quiet. "...yes."

He looks at her with pity. "And yet you have questioned nothing? _Nothing_ they have ever done?" He's pacing quietly- "Has _anything_ they have ever done, throughout history, roused anything except _exceptance_ in you, Eveline?"

He was calling on her common sense, urging her to see- the whole world and its operations and the operaters turning it- to see it  through open eyes, _not_ what the Assassin in her wants to contemplate.

"Are you aware of the chess board they happily pawn you about upon?"

She casts her eyes painfully to the carpet in more unwilling thoughts and a turmoilt of feelings twist inside her, full with sick and guilt. It is a long moment before, in a bitter, half mused tone, she finds the words to answer him simply.

"We are all pieces in the 'game of life', Starrick..." But her gaze remains unfocused as she helplessly ponders his words.

He nods and says no more. His words having struck their intended target.

 

This was not the last time she endured these relentless torments of soul and body, it was time and time again.

 

~

_I remember that he wanted me to see with eyes unblinded. My pride and comforts kept me from seeing what truly lie in this world and all its demons but I resisted with all my strength not to give in to him, to believe him...Because--what if he were true? What if all I had been taught and raised to know and be was false? An Assassin- the Creed was my life, my breath, my reason for living. Was I to admit that all in me were lies and falsehoods? Starrick was destroying me..._

~

 

In the silence of solitude before the fireplace, having cornered her again, he carresses her cheek with his own, his effortless words seeping soothingly into her ear. Her cheeks flushed with emotion she could not control and had no practice doing so, while he closed the space between them and pressed himself against her as if in comfort.

" _Stop this_ , Starrick.." Begging, resisting the growing urges of her young, victim flesh.

"You cannot help but appreciate this, Eveline-"

"- _Miss_ -Frye..." She insists desparately.

He sighed deeply into the slope of her neck. "..very well, _Miss Frye..._ "

Evie endures, swallowing painfullly. Her virgin breath helplessly catching more then once...

 

~

 _The Creed had always taught their lessons with double tongues, what applied in a certain situation was canceled in the next circumstance, and required a diligence to cypher what was appropriete for each given. I had rose in rank because I willingly played by their rules. Every one. The Order was god to me. You can dance around them and the allowances, which they allowed anyway, in so long as it was to their eventual gain or profit. Jacob and I- MY discision was one they didnt have to make and recieve the consiquences of. They took no responsibility, and watched for the final act-I am convinced they would have happily rewarded the winning of the city had we succeeded...But we didnt. I cost more then I was worth. They will not come back me._  
_Starrick was and is correct when he said I was a pawn.To my shame I did not know this till he showed me, taught me. That a Templar should teach a young Assassin anything is beyond shamful; but he did. That The Order itself was one of the oldest and greatest lies known to man, and I was a slave to them. And now to see this I cannot...(sigh) To turn against the Creed- to no longer follow it- was worthy of death. No exceptions._  
_If they cannot trust you, what they nurtured and created-a living, breathing weapon-you must be destroyed. Forgotten, except as a lesson to teach the next generation. Was this what 'the Assassin Hunter', Cormoc discovered? Did he suffer inside, this slow, death of doubts? To this day I don't know, and suppose I will never know. This was no longer Templar against Creed...it was somthing sublime and yet so much more..._

 

~

_ end first script.  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 6, 719 words


	2. The Colour of Doubt was Grey

 

 

 

~

 

Henry moved stone by stone, his immaculate white robes smeared with grey dust and the brown of dryed blood. The rubble he dared carefully, any wrong movement and he could crush the twins to death...not that he was completly certain that they would even be found alive. Not one to give up easily he hoped and had to be careful though because he didnt even know exactly where in all this they were..

" _Jacob? Evie??"_ He called softly again but received no answer. His head throbbed and ached from the blows he had recieved and he was not sure for how long he had lain on the cobble. It had to have been a considerable amount of time, surely, for there was little if any light for him to see by and he had to move slowly so as not to cause any further harm then what whatever wounds they would have incured...if they were not already dead.

"Evie??" He asked again. He couldn't help but notice how thick and heavy the air had become, he hoped the cavern remained intact long enough to make it out of here. Henry pulled another large stone the size of a small desk aside, peering about in the dim light for a glimpse of cloth or glint of steel-anything that might indicate an Assassin-

Like a voice swearing in pain? Once the stone ground aside with a loud crack a rasped curse and cry anounced the youngest Frye alive. Henry prayed that Evie was soon to follow. "Jacob! Are you hurt?"

Jacob groaned weakly. "Why is it...people only ask that _after_ they've heard them scream...or cry out first?" His voice sounded careful of how he spoke and strained when he did. He didnt move from where he lay, waiting for Henry to come and get him out.

Henry stepped lightly in his soft shoes, hardly disturbing the dust that had settled only hours before. He came to Jacob's side and assessed his condition as well as he could but Jacob was impatient.

"Henry, just help me up already-" His voice broke in a gasp of realisation. "- _Oh damn-_ Evie!" He looked about in the dim, clapping onto the Indian's gauntlet. "Henry-Evie-she's gone after Starrick-you have to follow her!" He struggled to rise but yelped sharply when he tryed. Henry pressed him down the instant he tryed, he was too injured to move without help... _But_ , _Evie? Gone?_ He had thought both twins were buried _here-_ but if she hadent.

If she had run after him alone...

"When, Jacob?" His heart throbbed to think of her as gone and alone against the Templar, the one who had beaten the three of them with the ease of a god of legend.

"I dont _know_ Henry-just go already!" Jacob was terrified for his sister and as terrible as it was, Henry knew that just as Jacob should not be simply left here, that Evie truly stood no chance alone. He moved away from Jacob and faced the crypt's tunneled exit.

"I will come back for you, Jacob, you have my-"

"Oh just GO Henry-"

 

~

 

_I believed the entire time that Jacob and Henry were held by Starrick and cruely injured as I was. Their lives hanging in the balence and with one wrong move, Starrick would end them or injure them further..._

_But it was only ever implied. He knew he had to only suggest it-and my imagination would supply the picture. He didnt even have to lie-my mind was so use to the practice anyways..._

_Of lying. Was I disgraced by that? I who was suppose to be the force of good in a world dedicated to usurpery, cheat, corruption and power-I was suppose to be the difference. Where did I go wrong? I suppose it was in part to how I was raised, how it was lawful for man-if with the correct intention and capabilities-to take the power into their hands and by anymeans secure justice. Whether through taking life, goods or position We were the hands of the higher power here. We-for anyone else it was wrong. Was I wrong to believe that? Is there anything left in me to even hold onto anymore?..._

 

_~_

 

This was the 9 day of the seventh month after the Ball in the evening-

 

"Have you read it then?" Evie, reading on the sofa, faced the warm glow of the fireplace whilst Starrick was reading a letter on his desk. He looked up.

Then quietly. "Yes."

She didnt look up from her book. "The entirity?"

"Yes, last night."

"Hmm. Did it edify you any?"

"This was not the first time I had read it, Miss Frye-"

"-Then I should have heard no, _Mr._ Starrick."

He drew a long, patient and set down his letter. He didnt answer but with silent wieght, stood, folding his firm clasped hands behind his back loosly...

 

 _'Just the night previous I had had a vicious trade of words with him, in which we were both more then ire'd for I had somhow had known he had been lying as to the custody of my brother and Henry yet neither of us had admitted to the false hood._  
_Rather, I had stalked into my room, the heat of my skin uncomfortable as was his memory upon it. No peace would come to me even after the third hour had passed as I felt the unbearable frustration of my allowances, his power, and my position to bring tears in my eyes but none would fall. I felt I should burst apart or light myself aflame.'_

_She had read a book the week long, titled "Testimonium". Attestations to the True-and Truth, and the reflections of the Inner man and his conscience were what caused all the unease and misery in the world. It spoke of a balence, and delt heavy blows against the cowardly liar- who didnt even have the courage or honour to spare himself from it's clinging grasp. The book's words rested and rooted inside her, had opened her mind and made her desire more-understanding...seeking truth._

_Yes, she realised, **that** was the source of her interior rage; it was not with him, but rather her inability to understand him and who he was and what he truly wanted. Their endless debates ground at her temperment and she had become hot and cross, till it broiled into tonights affair that had them both raging at each other till voices were hoarse. Games and Lies, Games and Lies and she had finally had enough! Tearing herself from him she had entered her room and then saw the book. A second of thought and deliberation proceeded the action of snatching it up and marching viciously back into his study. _

_He was now seated in his large arm chair behind his desk, his face dark with his own thoughts, just as she had been. He didnt even look up at the jerked open door. Or to her vehement steps that brought her before him- till she struck it on the desk where his boring eyes were staring. Immediatly he met her smoldering gaze with his own._

_"You are so fond of words and interior edification, Starrick." She all but spat his name."Then perhaps this will edify you where I cannot, and then I will not be the only one striving to understand all of this madness." After that she departed and didnt look back._

_His pale gaze did not leave her departing form till it passed from sight. Then his eyes slowly blinked and flicked downward- carefully taking the book offered..._

 

And now he claimed to have read the whole book. She believed him, but whether she believed it had done him any good was what was in question presently.

She watched him slowly pace round his evening desk, swallowing the last of his dark wine. His proud head held itself high in great thought from her challenges to his intellect and dignity and he stopped before the face of the fireplace, the crackling flames dancing over his dark, sharp features.

"What do you know of edification, Miss Frye? For all I hear of the _kindness_ I have shown you-are sharp and thoughtless words that are worth as much as they have been pondered...before being regretfully spoken."

His words were barbed, he sounded tired and a little annoyed at her childish ways, and even as easily as he cast them and they cut her down-stubborn as always-she refused to submit.

"You preach as if you sit on the higher horse-and in this disscussion-my _own_ education is not the subject in question."

He sighs quietly, his thick dark brows arching delicatly; mockingly, as he stares at the fire. "And so my own is?"

"I wonder if there is another in the room to whom I have been speaking-he would know, surely..." Her sarcastic tone mirroring his.

He turns and slowly faces her as she is perched before the fire, his gaze and carved features dissapointed and displeased with her cheap rebuff and she knows she has lost ground. Her thoughtless tongue had betrayed her again.

In all this sickening time she has spent subdued by him, he has even managed to master ways to speak to her that transcend spoken thought; he had found a way into her mind and soul, counting on her understanding him without him needing to even say it, by speaking in presence. He need only raise a finger. Tilt his head. Focus his gaze-and she would understand his quies like a well broke carriage horse.

 _Disgusting_. She scowled at the revelation and to how much control and influence he had exercised upon her in these short months. Was she trully so weak as to break and cave in so short a time? For the thousanth time she wondered what her brother would think of her-she is sure he would be disgusted and ashamed.

He faces her with hands still clasped behind his back as he stared her down.

She turns her face away towards her book on her lap and pretends to continue reading. They both know she is trying to wait him out as she stares at his feet on the fire lit carpet.

After a time his quiet voice, almost reverently, breaks the silence.

"What is it, Miss Frye, that you fear here?"

Evie remains as stoic as marbled stone as she ponders the chess move in the question. _What could he possibly be getting at now?_ Her gaze remained at his feet as she took care in her answer. This had nothing to do with the book...

"The question you ask is simplar then the answer, Starrick."

"Enlighten me."

She straightened. "No one half sensible openly or boldly admits their fears to their enemies. You are a fool to expect me to give you an answer..."

He was gauging her. "So you see me as your enemy?"

Scoff. "What else would you call yourself?"

"What do _you_ call me, Miss Frye?"

"-Stop with your games, Starrick. When shall it ever be enough for you?"

He pauses. For her benefit or his own she does not know.

Then in a quiet tone. "...Once I have won."

Her look is puzzled as she now looks up at him and sees he is staring down apon her with a single minded determination.

She feels anticipation and longing in such great volume and strength from his pale gaze that a blush creeps up her neck and ears making her look back to her lap carefully, trying not to anticipate him. She does not wish him upon her again...

"..perhaps you have had enough wine for this evening."

She feels him take a single step forward. "Yes. Perhaps I have..." He takes another step.

Evie's stomach clenches with...fear. She fears that he will touch her again and hold her- she fears that he pleases her too easily, and that the may be reason she does not flee- she fears the reason she has stopped fighting is that she has lost the will and been defeated..

Like a match struck in the darkest night, she realizes _why_ she feels this way...It is because she is desparate. She has been surrounded by enemies on every side with no one and nothing to stand between her and them. Realizing this long time how she had come to depend on her younger half-always there-and now she was so unsure of herself without his echoing agreement or unwanted critisizms. She was ment to live forever with another and without him-another-she was falling far and fast. Because she can no longer stand to be so _alone.._.

She snaps to immediatly and throws up a conscience protection to this new weakness inside her. Banishing it from her foremost thoughts she buries it deep down. She must never let him in-never let him know- and so focuses on the very man before her. He is eager to seek her but she will not let this night go any further-

She stands abruptly-he has found his way even closer-but remains resolute and holds her ground.

She must, demanding.

"Where are my brother and Henry? Tell me now where you keep them.." She catches how his bright eyes dull at the subject change and he takes a fair pause and breath before answering.

"...They-are well off...and _that_ should be enough for you, Miss Frye-"

"Where-are-they." She repeats herself more sternly. "You _will_ answer my question."

He is in a foul mood, his brooding and her sharp words have ired him into his contemptible bad temper.

"Will I?" He scoffs. "How shall you force me to answer?"

"I said nothing of force-"

 "-Shall you stamp your foot like a child and refuse to speak to me if I do not?"

She turns from him in disgust but he continues.

"-or shall you seek to injure me in some way? A fit? Your spiteful words? A desparate action inspired by a false hatred for a man you know nothing about save through your narrowminded indoctrination-"

"-Through his actions he has proved the man he is!"

"And what sort of man is this you speak-"

"A liar and a coward!" Her eyes burn as she rounds on him. "There is nothing beneath your skin except an ambitious, selfrightious coward! You have no honour-your word carries no wieght. You are the child here, Mr Starrick. And have always been."

He is settled on one leg strongly, his chin lowered as he gazes darkly at her. His posture is rigid with anger but he is also sneering at her with a hidden knowing-a knowing she wished to remain ignorant of-so she threw a sharp dart to injure or distract him.

"Do you deny it?"

He scoffs at her pitiful attempt to anger him, even though she knows it has-only he has taken a pleasure in it for a reason she is unaware of. Prepareing somthing for her heart later, she can only presume.

 

A long silence draws on between them, the seconds on the grandfather clock ticking painfully loud like broken heartbeats. The glares between them draw on until they are more studious...then contemplative. Soon one can tell, as the air cools to a simmer, that they are now planning and ploting their next plays of hand. That and they both seem to wish not to argue- they are tiredly burdaned with the wieght of the deep night.

 

She turns and is about to retire when he suddenly turns his voice to her again.

"What is it holds you here, Eveline."

She looks up, her face darkening in disbelief.

"...I though it was obvious what you threaten me with."

"And how have I threatened you, Miss Frye?"

Her voice tightened with a familiar aching rage at his play at ignorance.

"You hold my brother and Mr. Green-their good and wellbeing-dependant on my compliance." Her gaze hardened. "Do not _dare_ claim innocence-"

"I claim nothing..." His response was bait, daring her to reproach him further.

"You are hiding behind your tongue again. Worse then a coiled snake-" She shakes her head tiredly. "Why can you not speak to me? Answer me?" She pictures a crane's head as it bobs and weaves, dodging blows, deflecting attacks and always avoiding direct confrontation. She sees the burning light in his eyes and imagines it is somthing other then anger or lust...

She adds quietly. "...Are you afraid?"

Starrick's impassive face remains untouchable as he simply turns his back to her and slowly faces the fireplace. His hands fold behind him with a measured presision and control that suggested many years practice and long habit. She watched him in silence but he did not leave her to ponder long.

"You-" He began. "-are afraid to know where they truly lie, Miss Frye. You ask that question out of owing it to them but if your conscience did not guilt you, you would remain silent, here, with me and wonder no further."

Her face blanks briefly in blushing guilt and anger at his stab at her character, half truth blended with bait to goad her-she bit back.

"That is not true-and you shame yourself thinking so little of me. After all these long months I have asked after them again and again-"

"-But it didnt matter, did it? You asked but did not trully seek the answer yourself. Eveline, you who have always forced fate by your own hand and taken the place of the maker in deciding destiny-are now willing to stand by and let it push you. You have given up the burdan of responsibility and _enjoy_ the indulgence of relief. Dare to tell me I speak untruth."

It was true, it was, and yet-she lied to him and herself. He must know she would.

"I dare it-"

"-Then what _is_ your truth..?"

" _You_ -do not deserve to hear it."

She looks up at him now and trys to divine the answer from the mask of his continence but it is closed to her; it always is. He tears his way into her heart and soul and then gives her the image of image of chisled granite in return. _What does he expect from her?_ Her chest clenched sickly, words swirling and swiming in her mind as she stared into his dark face...his eyes shone pale in the flickering light.

He was not going to give her rest-it was going to find place amongst them till this subject had been consumed and painfully extracted from her like an arrow head.

But not tonight-in their states perhaps he dare not risk it.

He bid her quietly. "Goodnight then, Miss Frye."

She didnt wait for any further dismissal and fled...

 

~

 

_A  week later he anounced that he was to be moving into Buckingham palace. The Queen-he had killed her-and then framed assassins for it. That they had infiltrated the palace Ball, had her kidnapped and held in exchange for her own life, they demanded power, the lives of select citezens and seats in all of Parliment to rule the city by force. He knew it was not the Assassin way but he painted this picture for the people, that they were a cult of devious, twisted killers and the people rose behind him in great force. Again, he didnt lie-it was only his perverted version of the truth and the fact that it was truth-I have nothing to fight him with. ~~All I have are lies!~~ (I am carried away again, I am sorry...)_

_He had taken the greatest cares to promote himself humbly as taking control of a riotous and chaotic leftover of a monarch's unfortunate passing-and none objected. The palace men welcomed him-us. I was guarded, as always, and shown to my new residance._

_It was nostalgic of a time in a dream, when the last time I had been here how it was the start of it all...how all this began-and it was not yet over. A fortnight passed before I saw him again, he had been attending to a number of affairs and meeting with various city officials and leaders, all of which grumbled only a little before his honeyed words and generous offers pried their alliegence from them. He was so very proud of himself...and why should he not be? He was the ruler of London, unchallenged and already setting deep roots._

_As a dear friend once said, Whom soever should rule London-Rules the World..._

 

_~_

 

She had been shown her room and then left to herself. In Buckingham Palace there were royal guards stationed in _every room -_ the Templars had no reason to guard her now. She would be always watched in silence by the royal guards themselves...her chest ached helplessly.

 

~

 

_When he came back from his business that evening and saw me for the first time in almost three weeks, he looked at me in a way that was like a husband gone long on business. It stirred my blood hotly as he sat down for dinner and drank me in as readily as the wine on the table. Granted he kept himself respectable but he had work in his head for me that I knew nothing of- the whole time he never revealed what he was trully doing and why. It was what irked me most...what I truly feared, I think..._

 

~

 

After dinner she had barely made it to the sitting room on that floor before she felt him following her. She hadn't known where to go-what to do and had only made her way to the fireplace with no clue of what to she was intending to do there. It was only a moment of indicision before she felt his tending arm slip infront of her, gripping her lith waist, and from behind he drew her, commanding, to himself, pressing her shoulder blades to his beating heart.

She started, growing rigid under his hands she discplined her thoughts and emotions. She firmly scolded him, dissapointed from his apparent desires, she challenged. "-Do not come for me as if I am your wife, Starrick-I am but a prisoner and you will at least stop pretending otherwise."

He didnt answer but just sighed behind her head. His lips softly tasted her blushing shoulder.

She did not respond to his attentions but rebuked him instead. She was so tired of all this-

"Is _this_ all you are? Is this _all_ you have to offer?"

A moments pause, before he answered simply. "No. It is not."

She pulled herself away-he let her regretably go-and she faced him; cheeks coloured with strength and frustration.

"Show me then-what you really are. I want to see it. If there truly is anything else to see..."

Starrick stood before her, contemplating her words. This was different that she should ask somthing of this kind of him-what she had in mind was different then what he came to think of the answer to her demand of his intentions and character.

So he said nothing-but reached out carefully-and touched the curve of her jaw again, with a grace and care that suggested he was looking beneath the surface and into her flesh beneath. Into the knotted muscles and cords that bond and gripped tight and fierce.

She was a wild animal and he wished to tame her-not break her.

_But wasnt that one and the same thing?_

Her eyes were deep and wide, trying to bore into his soul. She made no response to his touch but was trying to peer into him-inside him-and tear the cover from his heart; to discover what truly lay beneath his cold and calculated sculptur of porcelin. If he was all this and nothing more...

He knew what she wanted. But he had given that gift to _no-one_. Not even his own Pearl...

Starrick's hand smoothly cupped from her throat to behind her neck then he drew her to his open mouth.

The assassin threw her head up with a huff of frustration but he pressed on uninterrupted and sucked a soft kiss upon her throat. He knew what her femininity desired but perhaps his mind long grown in the ways of move and contermoves, guard and trustlessness he had built an impenitratable wall around his human heart that now when one asked for proof of its existence, he had nothing.

_Did it even matter?_

She swallowed hard against his mouth and moaned as he drew her rigid body against his. His attentions softened her as he practiced gentle pleasure but what she was asking was if their was a compassionate human heart inside of him. Was all he was only what he portrayed or was he more? He knew all she saw was the monster that slew beggers and crushed children beneath beams of steel; who starved widows and sought all of London to crawl to him in desparate poverty-but that was a false image painted in hate and fear, not truth. She knew it, but still needed proof of somthing other then what she had been led to believe..this was all she had known of him or yet knew.

Her hands pushed hard against him, trying to push him away but his hold as gentle as it was demanding, told her to remain as she was till he saw fit to release her.

He knew this was when she tryed to resist him and what he wished her to know-when she wanted to believe what she wished and not his words and actions-that they both knew she was lying when she claimed not to enjoy it.

"Starrick-I.." She swore. "-I..dont want this-please.. _stop_."

He didnt answer her, his mouth softly drinking at her puckered pores and chilling her hot skin with his breath. He could feel her twisting and trembling from the strength of emotion he was grating from her yet she still resisted him.

"Crawford-" She desparatly used his first name to beg him. "-I dont want this-"

"-do not lie to me, Eveline..." His hands folded round the waist of her corset and he firmly applyed pressure-he imagined his hands were all that held her in-as if they were the very fabric that contained her-and he drew that image in her mind with the visceral motion.

Evie moaned harshly, grasping his braced shoulders with a strength that betrayed her desire to retaliate. She amended her words with difficulty, her head craned backward as if in pain.

"I dont want this..not from _you._.."

His open mouth he pressed to the pit of her throat and the sudden breath he drew against her bare skin caused her to cry out breathless. He felt her impossible grip tighten and his own body was begining to grip and growl; in need of this desire. This attention. His age and experience had granted him patience however and he was not about to take what he was most certain would be given to him freely.

_If only he tread softly..._

She whispered another moan-

 _Very softly.._.

 

~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4, 494 words.


	3. The Different Names and Shades of Green

 

~

 

Enough was finally enough, she had to do somthing...

Even as the memory clung to her mind like a haze of cigar smoke; she choked on it and couldnt help but to breath it in with every singular breath of her own-and after a time it had grown tastful to her and she imagined that it was not so bad at all...

But the second she thought it all over...it made her sick. She saw her brother's face staring into her soul when she sought her secrets in the mirror and he gazed back at her sickened at her allowance. 'What are you doing, Evie?' He asked silently.

She wanted to say 'I am doing this for you. For Henry.' But he shook his head and said. 'No. You're not.'

Now after this exhausting evening, she went to bed without consulting the glass. All she could think of after she had escaped the seducing clutch of Starrick was her brother and Henry-

If they were even alive, as Crawford had always attested. This whole time she had been hoping a faintly that he was speaking truth of this at least...But if she were to listen to her brother's reflection, was that the better truth to believe in? Was she now forming delusions and mirages to console her in her indiscision and grief? Was that his ghost speaking to her and attesting to her pitiable gullibility?

Laying upon her bed in her evening gown, restless and aggitated from the memory of his force and frame against her, tortured with the demons and spirits of her soul and mind, she twisted at her fingers thinking....

Closing her eyes, she resolved to maintain her fragile peace. Breath Evie. Breath. She could not continue the pattern she had formed and drawn while at Starrick's private estate; the one she had survived with-and perhaps that very one alone was the source of her defeat and subjection.

She shook her head and those thoughts away for now and forced herself again into the here and now. Here. Stay here, Evie.

Here-was different and so she must adapt to the new terrain; she would have to grow in her own ways and devise a new method to approach him and his antics with. She could not just sit here, do nothing, and let him walk about her and drown her with himself as he pleased- until he had fulfilled his secret purpose in her... No.

But in her defense it trully was the ambiount thread of fear he held over her concerning the fates of Jacob and Henry. These long months had proved that he relished holding an Assassin and she remembered wistfully how many chances he had baited her with to tempt her to act out; testing his leash on her with the promise of torture and death to the two people in the whole of the world she could not bear the deaths of. Once he had solid control of her, he then had begun to press himself into the picture of her future and THAT was what she had yet to understand...

Why? What use could he possibly have-what plans for a person who he knew at the briefest opportunity would happily gash his throat open wide?

She sighed into her palms as the moon shone pale upon her. God only knew.

She knew from his display this evening that he seemed searching for somthing inside her...or was he? Before she could discover what that even was-if it even existed-there wasn't anyway he was going to reveal that plainly. She had to regain her head and some discepline to her emotions in order to be able to direct her sense and observations to guide her questions to their target.

_I would discover the truth of him, I swore by my life that I would...but did I truly want to?_

The faintest recollection of a conversation sang it's song into her blushed ears, the memory months ago of her begging his mercy to the children and widows being dragged to the factories and work houses by the scores. The unjustice and barbarity of the idea had her heated in a rage, but he met her with his cool indiffernce as he even then scrawled the orders upon his desk. In that memory, she recalled him stating that '-as of this moment, she had no say or authority in the matter-' The words held their own implications but it was his eyes as they bore upward into hers with an intensity and design which his voice was barren of, that she understood it now to be more of a suggestion to a course of action; an offer, rather then, as she had thought, a scorn to her gently missplaced good will...

Questions dancing circles in her head, Evie's eyes narrowed in critical thought as she began to reason her position and entitlement should she play this correctly.

What if he was waiting for her to offer herself as a associate in his affairs? What if he was waiting for her to make the move and help him help herself?

She needed involvment in his affairs,was this the way to get it? Was this her window or oppertunity?

Motive. If Starrick wanted her to help his "vision" but was very careful in his allotments of her exposures to the other side of the life she was now leading...maybe there was a way to help him and herself and the rest of London as well without destroying what was left inside herself. Before she was too far gone...

She pushed herself upright and pulled a blank paper from within her desk drawer and a ink well and quill. Reseating herself into her bedside chair, she held her quill with singular attention and intent; dripping with purpose and design.  
Direction. Focus.

That was all she had ever needed anyway.

 

~

 

_Inside I struggled with my new self. After what had occured the previous night I had expected one of these times that he would finally force himself upon and claim me; fufilling his own rabid desires at last..._

_The idea was not so horrendious as the modern woman might take it-as an Assassin I was raised to understand that my body was a tool, nothing sacred or set aside. Everyone used their bodies as a means to an end, somthing that propeled idea and thought and translated it into physical action. A harbor of a sort; no fantasies at all of one soul meant for another only... I took a cleansing breath even as I soured inside; It was merely a means to an end..._

_Carved and honed into a living weapon, sharp as any steel; I understood the power of attraction between the sexes and understood how to use them should I need to-though that was never my particular approach or style, I never had-and would have been more of Jacob's way anyhow. Even so, had never needed it-my wit and cold sense had served every need. That didnt mean I couldn't easily descern somthing pretty from somthing aweful or ugly-I am no bloke- and have fine understanding that I was a woman. It was just that I had grown used to the attention men gave me as I lived in a man's proffesion in a man's world, dressed as a man and even commanded men.  
_

_So it wasn't imagining the act with him that riled me with disgust or twisting a blushing scowl upon my freckled features; it was the admittence of defeat that such a thing would signify to him and admit to myself; that I had given into him and subjected myself to defeat and acceptance..._

_Evie Frye, tempered at last?_

_Heat rose inside me even then remembering the heat of his breath on my skin as he muttered my name..._

_~~(deep breath, cut the thought off and push it away with all the rest. Stop.)~~ _

_I knew I needed a plan and somthing to do, to think about other then idleness and isolation and dwelling on my own misery and hoplessness; somthing that could help anyone-the unfortunates perhaps that I had left to the wolves._

_And Starrick would agree to me and my reasoning, in this at least. He could not help but to-_

_And I could not, aswell._

 

_~_

 

Starrick had many affiars of state to attend to.

The assassinations of the many heads of the former monarchy had appointed had left serious gapes in the folds of his master plan, infant as it was, so he was striving hard to seal any weaknesses in his hold of London.

And so far none had come to challenge him, still, he took no chances. The city itself was his very eyes and ears, having every law enforcment constible and begger for hire assigned to seek out any activity on the part of the Assassins and any sympathizers or their circles and so far none had come forth or could be found. Now with the boom of industry freed from the meddling hands of the Council, Starrick now managed everything through himself and through the underlings he appointed.

Crippled at the severe losses of his gang leaders and heads of industry he knew he must rise quickly and surely, so without another moment to lose he aranged for an official meet once he had securely settled into Buckingham palace.

Nothing stood between him and the most grand of all his victories and he would see that nothing would ever...

 

 

~

 

Evie over heard this byway of listening to mutterings on the other side of the drawing room wall. She ached inside to do somthing but she couldnt-could she? It was before her time, she could not act yet-

She overheard that the palace was going to recieve some very important visiters and that London, for the first time in nearly a century, was going to witness the glory of true change.

What that meant to her and for the entirety of the city was her duty to find out. Not for creed or country but for everyone whom this was going to effect; by her honour if nothing else and her duty to serve the people she had failed to protect-but first she had to discover what that truly meant.

Her inaction...she could stand it no more.

 

She had been called to join him at a very important meeting in a quiet estate just west of Buckingham Palace though she was not to be joining the proceeds. He was bringing her to keep an eye on her but she knew that here was the time to make her first move. She must.

Of the selection of dresses that had been allauded her, she chose for herself a ruffled gown of green, more of an emerald sheen, that was laced in ivory around the elbows cuffs and bottom ruffle of the skirt; its embroidery was such skill owned by royalty and so deserving. How she felt rot in it...like a mud doll wrapt in silk.

Her hair was pulled back and twisted into a knotted bun intwined with a silk ribbon, whilst small pearl hair pins dotted her brunette carpet. On her small feet were fitted with black silk slippers; such fashion she was loathfully becoming fond of....

Dressed so, she started towards his main office. The colour she chose, submlimly, to calm and please him. She knew that what she was going to ask of him would inspire a disadvantagious curiosity-maybe even a false suspicion-but taking care to be pleasing to his eyes, she wished at least, that her appearance or manner would at give her the chance...

She needed this.

 

_~_

 

Crawley. Two weeks after the assassination of Queen Victoria.

 

George couldnt placate them. They had to do somthing about this current situation...

Henry was arguing about the utter loss of London to the Templars, the points of no action taken to assist their supporters there and the fact that the Council had inarguably, downright forbid that any action be taken.

And with Jacob in such a state, as much as he burned to dissobey-he knew they could only do as the Council had demanded.

Huffing in defeat into the palm of his copper hand, Henry blew the bitter air out of his frustrated lungs; wishing that things-for once in the history of the world-could simply be. He turned from George who wisely held his tongue for half a moment, letting the men gather themselves at such news. His hands coming now to rest upon the ridges of his anxious hips, the Indian glanced at Jacob-knowing what his eyes would find.

Jacob had taken the news silently, very unlike him, lounged-more like braced-most carefully on one of the sofas of their quarters. His injuries forbidding most movment and two measures of laudnum twice day to tolerate at all. He was bitter and grieving at the loss of his sister and would speak to no one-choice words to Henry alone-but especially now that the Council had made the move that no action was to be taken agianst Starrick...he was sure he not speak at all. Even starving to death would not be beyond him, like most twin creatures did after the loss of their birth mate. He would not let that happen, of course, but Jacob was stubborn and full of fear and grief...he would not be surprised if he hated him now.

Now that the Council believed London was beyond saving, if it had ever even had a chance before, they now declared-for the Order's protection-that all were to see it as if it no longer existed on the map. And no one had approached the subject of whether the Fryes should suffer discapline for their unauthorized mission of the city...

Yet.  


George could hardly explain it any clearer.

"It is not an infinate declaration-" He attempted to console them futaly. "The Council sees reason and has considered all the facts with due critisizm in the face of such a brutal but forseeable reality...terrible as it is. London has finally succumbed to her own corruption and it is only wise to gather our strength and wait for the chance to strike."

He looked to them both as it trying to convince them that it was the wisest choice, even though his words were met by Henry's back and Jacob's rear facing head instead of their ears as they really did not want to hear what he had to say...but George was George and he would say what he liked.

He continued in their silence. "It trully is a shame to lose Evie, but it is not as if you could not have seen it coming-" He didnt notice Jacob's shoulders creep rigidly to his ears or see Henry's hand attempt to hold the young man's shoulder restrainingly. Henry interrupted him before anyone said anything else quietly.

"-Thank you, George, but Jacob needs his rest. Especially after such unfavorable news.." His own belly felt cold and hollow at the thought of abandoning the place he had bled such effort into.

"I see. Well, should you need anything-"

"Thank you-I will call you if the need arises." He truly didnt intend to, but the fellow assassin smiled sadly.

"Very well. Goodnight Mr. Green."

"Goodnight George."

 

 

After seeing to Jacob, tended and resting, Henry stiffly sat before his drawing desk and carfully unwrapt his personal journel. He took up his quill and with measured, graceful strokes, he traced his pained thoughts and guilty memories in the lines of ink...

His conscience demanded it and his honour as well...that if his frail hopes were gone that at least her memory would be cherished and her soul at peace...

 

~

 

_Henry's Journel_

_It is three months since we were in London. Since I had last seen Evie._

_After I had discovered the Crypt entrance had collapsed in on itself, or rather collapsed by a Master Templar. I had dug for hours, I was still used to such labors from my days as a railroad tunneler, but had knew I had to check back on Jacob for I had been away too long as it was. I kept hoping that one more stone was going to show me the beam of light that meant I would be there to help her-to be the one to find her and the Templat and save her-_

_But it was not so. I had to give up because my assesment had been that it would take a day at least to dig us out...maybe even two._

_Not good for us at all._

_I came back to Jacob and tasked myself to dig him out instead because I didnt feel safe leaving him alone so long, with no idea if he could move or if he would shout and cause a cave in. It was so very dangerous that we very well could have died-but we didnt. I almost wonder why we were preserved..._

_Chunk by chunk I discovered Jacob's severe injuries that had made it impossible for him to help me at all-almost so bad that I did not want him moved but I trully had no choice-I could not afford to remain here much longer. So I struggled with him the rest of the day, taking breaks; allowing for us to not exhaust ourselves._

_We were both worried sick for Evie, Jacob worse so with nothing else to occupy himself with except for impatience and pain-which were both taxing and exhausting occupations in and of themselves and Jacob couldnt stop blaming himself for sending her at the Templar. At the time filled with bloodthirst, he believed he had sent her off to sate it and now how had she ended up? Dead? Slotted-bled out by the Blighter and templar bastards. Held at ransom? Tortured for news and information?  
_

 

_He had wheezed weakly, his eyes had been angry. Filled with fear and pain. "Henry-" He had said.  
_

_"-No, lie still. You need to rest-" I didn't want him to move, but he tryed to argue.  
_

_"I sent her-"_

_"-Jacob dont. Look it is no ones fault-"_

_I told him that but neither of us believed it. It was both of their faults for failing..._

_It was a miracle that we were forgiven at all, after I had dragged us from the rubble and back into the crisp air of London's cold autumn night and now that I have stood before the Council...it had taken me two days to get us out of that earthen prison...I cannot bear to recall it now but we were so very thirsty and hungery and even though I had done what I could for Jacob's injuries they still proved to be a terrible danger to his health and had to undergo immediate treatment upon our arrivel in Crawely...the train ride had been too long with far too much time to think and worry...  
_

_The whole time, Jacob wanted me to look for her-to leave him and go for her-and I said I would once I got him to safty..._

_But I couldn't. And I didn't. I knew we couldn't because since none of us had succeeded whilst taking him down together, how in all the powers, were we-how was **I** -to take him down and then attempt to find or rescue her? It was impossible! I knew it was greater then foolish to try! I...I..._

_I am now beginning to truly feel the crushing guilt having abandoned the woman I claimed to love and never even looked back-_

_(Shiva, forgive me-For what have I done?)_

 

_So, I staggered on, dragging Jacob with me who was in too much pain, by then, to resist me. By fortune's smile, we managed to get to the trainstation unacosted and alive and were on our way as if by God's grace..._

_Did I feel good about that? I suppose I didn't think about it at the time...there was so much inside-my own heart was striking hard against my breast-that I contended to think nothing but what was before me and chose to allow the ghosts and spirits of regret haunt me later. Oh how I wish I had contended with them then..._

_I promised myself, at least I told myself that I would, at the soonest opertunity...But I didnt. I rode the train all the way back to Crawley and for fear I didnt look back._

_I was afraid of what they would find..._

_If only I had only known._

 

~

 

Blowing his breath softly to dry the ink, Henry stared over the heartbreaking lines once more before he turned the cover over and replaced the small soft book in his silk and drawer. He could hear Jacob's restless sleep sounds deep in the night and ached inside wondering what Evie's fate truly was...

Did he even deserve to know?

He thought not. Even if she were alive, he did not deserve to look at her face again, let alone her pale blue eyes and confess his deepest appologies to her and her family. His mentor Ethen Frye himself, no doubt, now gazed down at Henry's heart and soul with a vengeful disturbance.

And Henry deserved it because he knew how much of a coward he was...and still remained. He shook his head in shame and wistfully blew out the candle's light.

And retired in the darkness.

 

~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3, 565 words. Ohh the good old days of single digit thousand numbers...  
> (Keep reading, you'll know what I mean:P )


	4. His Roses Blood Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1. Charging into the Crypt, the Frye twins cannot overcome the power the Shroud wielded by the mad Grand Master Templar Crawford Starrick. Beaten, completly undone by his power, Henry and Jacob are buried in its depths. Evie was wounded and taken into the care and cruel company of the templars.  
> Chapter 2. Henry escapes the ruins of the Crypt with a near mortally wounded Jacob, promising to return and save Evie. But will it be too late? Meanwhile Starrick's serpant words cloud Evie's heart with doubts about the nobility of the Creed and the "honor" with which she blindly serves them. He begins to advance in body and cruelty upon her and her clear direction is blunted, lost to shadows. He has now formed a definative plan for her...  
> Chapter 3. Henry is consumed with guilt for having abandoned Evie, but what else was he to do? He struggles with his pain and grief even as Jacob is consumed with his own.  
> Evie fears for them but Starrick implies that if she strikes out against him, it is her loved ones that will suffer. She will not give up but she cannot fight back.  
> What else is there for her to do?

_Years before, the African desert._

 

Blood. The sand was bathed with it..

The young soldier's ragged breath tore in and roared out his throat as the desert air scorched his mouth and cracked his bleeding skin, spinning circles as he tried to focus his wrath upon a single enemy-but they were all about him. The young cavalier dragged himself off of his bleeding horse as it wailed for fear and for pain. The animal was on it’s side, underbelly turned outward by the sandman's schmiter in his raging charge. He stumbled past it, his boots giving way to the loose sand,  and he ignored its last moments as its hooves kicked the sand at its master.

Bellowing in rage, he stumbled idiotically around it, leaving the creature to its slow end- For all around him was nothing but waste and ruin and man feeding on their most primal urgings of blood and violence.

Crawford’s boots dragged over the ragged bodies of his calvary men about him, their bodies dotting across his vision; striking spotted lumps against the white hot mirage of sand glares in his bloodshot eyes.

His raging blood he had not learned to cool yet. It fueled his fury and his pride; He would not fall, he would not fail like other men. And the men who had been too weak to stand but had stood by him faithfully- he would make them proud. Circling to keep them all in view , he snarled to challenge them to his blade; as all of their pistols we’re out of ammunition too long ago..

The barbarian’s shrill voices we’re laced with curses, singing of their foreign tongues. Fearless and intimidating to a man so outnumbered but in their faces, he _laughed_. His pagan enemies who had slain his men, Oh how he would make them quake with fear. He will have them feel the sting of his wrath. His determination. His will…when they ultimately cowered under the strength that gave him life.

And he would show all that he was not like other men-bloodied and exhausted-he still would show them. So as the rushed towards him, he bellowed and roared- then the sand swirled about with blood and bile..

Crawford knew even then that will is the greatest weapon of man.

Thus impossible minutes later as he tottered down the bloodied sand dune alone, he had cooled then blood in his veins, his mind now a sharp shard of iron. The blistering miles he walked never quenched the vision before him, and oil painting of brilliance and light. Now his future was no aimless cloud but a vividly painted shape before him,  his calling. An understanding of those that would rule.. and those that would be ruled.

This glorious world was truely made to be conquered..

 

~

Buckingham Palace, 4 weeks till the declaration of London's new leadership. 

Starrick sits before his illustrious office desk, his eyes occupied by his present work of importance. He is silent; the only sound in the room is the songbirds from his open window and the scratching of his pen against the royal paper.

He is issuing orders as Grand Master and Lord of all London to the capitols in the world; a summons  directed to all heads of Templar state, even secret cells to awaken, with directions they should follow to converge on the city under his new order. For he has the fabled Piece of Eden and its power had given him an untold victory. His script controlled, flowing without interruption in tandem with every breath. 

_‘I will have you prepare yourselves, for our time has now come. The Assassin's presence here are little if no more, for I myself have rested their presence and seen them vanquished..’_

 He commands all that within three weeks they are to arrive and so he may, under ceremony, finalize his rule on this city. 

Starrick scratches his signature at the bottom of the letter, his mind sharp and calm with a clarity his mind had always possessed. That was often overlooked in his youth because of his violence and temper, but his passion to enlighten the world to his true benevolence and in his desire to reform he had grown himself gracefully into the ruthless devotee of progression and humanity that he was today. The future Supreme Lord of all of England and Grand Master or all Templars..

His thoughts wove freely as his steady hands softened the wax onto his ring. His carven brows raised in approval as the fresh stamp is pressed firm with the Templar cross sigil. Blowing once with care, he then leans backward with thought and conscience. Leaving it to dry, his eyes stare in defocus past his steepling his fingers that were resting gently against his thick mustache.

His face, dark in sinister contemplation of all that lie ahead for him and his city, knew these next few months and the first movements would be the most detrimental to his reign. For his secondmost plan he had crafted for their dear guest specially, was this day to take an infant step towards it’s fruition. For a special design he had upon her for his city's future; as well as his own private revenge..

He returns from his thoughts and with gloved hand rings a soft bell.

His manservant enters."Mi’Lord?”

Starrick rests his hand upon the face of the desk.

"Bring Miss Frye in."

The man stands, awaiting a reason to give her when she asks. How she clung to such fragile "control"..

"The matter concerns the details to her  _new position_."

The man servant bows briefly, satisfied, then departs. Starrick takes a plotting breath.

And another.

He finds himself turning in his fine chair to rest an elbow on the back, taking in the room where he now sat almost King, as well as the fine grounds of Buckingham palace through the glass window that were now his own. Birds were still chirping and flitting by innocently as he murmurs to himself.

“My grounds. My city. All will know it as mine after these short months. And even the Assassins themselves shall know this before long.”

His wandering eyes catch the fine people walking in the streets beyond, as if nothing had or ever could change in their pitiful little worlds. They do not deserve the effort he puts out for them. No one does. But it is not for individualism but for the whole of mankind. And London was where he would start..Closing his eyes he draws a deep breath into himself. One that enflames one’s inner belief, conviction and resolve.

_‘This is where I will change the face of the world. In my name and in My power. All father will guide us.’_

Sooner than expected, Evie is ushered into his office.  _Eager?_  So he turns to face her, giving her his all encompassing and undivided attention..

She stands tall and proud to look down her nose at him with a false indifference. Ah, but he can see the spark of eager conviction in the blue of her eyes. She is a vision, wearing a gown of the finest emerald silk, and what he now observed as a forced softening to her features;  as if she were devoted to a task already.

A poor creature in need an occupation, a task to complete. It was almost pitiable how she was so in need of something to direct herself to or her efforts towards. But it was this exact need to which he was about to appeal now. His effort aided by how it mattered little, at this point, to her now from where or even whom the direction is presented , a consequence of her faulted upbringing.

Her mind is especially more malleable now that he had stripped her down of all she had otherwise known. A life of living dedicated to one goal to another  -fulfilling one objective to the next. But he knows it gives her purpose, something he has been intentionally denying her, for this exact end. In her aimlessness, she will be more open to accepting a new direction. A new head.

Thus more agreeable to heeding a new master; a new conscience. Himself.

And so it is under himself that he is to have her place herself, willingly. A position (he adds silently) to which she is most suited..

His mask, unlike her own, is much longer practiced and made of such sharpened shapes that non have easily divined past. With it, he gives her an air of impatience, of wanting or needing this affair finished as quickly as possible. As if he has more important things to concern himself with and as expected, he needs her to feel this is a short chance to grasp at a chance of action. He gives her this stern moment of silence before addressing her boldly.

"Miss Frye, you once offered yourself as an advocate to the deprived citizenry of my city, did you not?"

Every word he chooses is to punctuate a truth or challenge her, to test her difficulty. Using position, her situation and his words, he will have her perform as if she were his finest mare-in a past long passing- One shown in equestrian competition. Exhausting cases for showmanship for those who would prove their worth. In her movements of strength and grace,  she would present herself to him, like such a fine animal, the loyal satisfaction as he led her paraded before her former mentors and associates; to perform before all of London and the world as a spellbinding display of intelligence and beauty broken to his will.

She would be his to direct under a firm yet careful hand.

These interior visions do not show upon his continence but she is no less displeased with him or his words. Her nose wrinkles at "his city", but her head moves in a nod. "I did. So you are offering-"

"-I am bestowing upon you the right of advocate, speaker and formal adviser to me."

Her eyes widened and at the silence that comes between them he knows he has her attention. She understands the power then.. He watches her silently choke on the significance of his words, as he intended to shock and at the same time flatter her, with a position she cannot refuse as his bait.

He is cold as stone watching her but amusement colours his gaze as watches her get a grip on her feelings. The effort it takes her to manage to keep her surprise from her continence is treasurable. Her eyes narrow slightly, appearing to try to see past the lines of words to his intention. He leans forward as she stands there, mouth set in a stubborn line.

"Simply, you will answer to  _me,_ and only to me. I am your lord." She doesn’t move or flinch from the implications of a man elevating himself to a title of her ‘lord’. "Any decree of mine shall be the only thing above you, you will obey them without thought, without question. You shall have position in my meetings of state, and shall be present to decide sentencing and to set standards for the lesser citizenry and their concerns; organization and assigning of cares for the orphanages, sick houses and schools. Lastly, management of all finances."

A risk but worthy of the odds. He is offering her the three of the four pillars she clung to with childlike need.  _Freedom-no one above you. Inclusion-a voice in his meetings and affairs. Control-a responsibility for the unfortunate citizenry of London._ Faith was the fourth, but that he had slowly chipped away at that she held in her for some time, and he would not give that back just yet.

He gives her a long moment of silence, allowing her mind to process the weight of his words; to judge every sentence on its merit.

She looks..incredulous. "You are serious?"

"I am a serious man, Miss Frye." He said coolly, leveling her with a searching gaze.

 She is biting down on her hasty tongue eager to reply but now a little wiser to think first. He reads her posture, it’s is not relaxed but is not brittle either. Her eyes are bright as she is trying to figure out something in her head. Another deal or perhaps a compromise? She says nothing yet.

He stands and utters a sigh as if he finds her contemplation wearisome to endure, then gathers his official papers about his desk and throws his coat over his arm. Pressuring her to act; flushing her out and into the open of his design.

_How could she resist?_

Evie’s eyes take note of his movement, worry marring her brow at  his seeming "time table". He's moving around the desk,  eyes  set for the door, ignoring her presence ,  when as expected a sharp sound is uttered from firmly pressed lips"To all these things “ her voice raised to catch him. “I cannot help but to notice there is a lack of argument.”

 _A deal too sweet the devil surely lies curled around it._ He knows she was in want to point out but instead of this she holds silent,  she is careful with her words... He notes this, triumphantly pleased to find she didn’t refuse him or spit out in mockery.

 

She has already agreed then, inside herself perhaps without knowing. Now she is only seeking a reason to sate her conscience..

His sighs tiredly, feigning an exhaustion of their "games", and the need and demand(most often in her case) for answers,  but inwardly he has nothing pressing to contend with.

With the cunning of a lion, he scrapes his steps; majestically, contemptuously, to a stop near her. Meeting her questioning  gaze with an air of supremacy, he declares in all seriousness.

"After your disastrous little machination across London, I find myself bereft of  reliable men with suitable qualifications to fill this position. Thus I turn to you, Miss Frye, in my efficiency and acknowledgment of your worth and talents, make an offer for this solution. If you believe yourself unqualified, you may decline. But I seem to recall a prior conversation of ours that you were in need of an involvement in the affairs for the sake of your _beloved people_.." the last words drip with political sarcasm, enticing her to rebuttal as he injures her pride.

Her brilliant eyes flare, and suspicion curtains her mouth, "Indeed I had. But you give a title like this most liberally and so I’m inclined by nature to question the reason for your sudden trust in my abilities. I would understand all that you would expect of me before agreeing to it."

A show of annoyance ripples momentarily across his features by her over analysis and his brow furrows in mild anger, barbing a reaction from her because he is feeding her natural reactions. Playing her.

Ignorant of this, she raises her chin. Defiance straightens her posture as her brows snap together in answer.

"I will not eat out of your hand like a dog if that is what you are expecting. I want facts."

He scoffs in “irritation”.

"Then I shall make sure they are simple enough for you, child.” her neck blushes at his words, mouth opening at his provocation, but he will treat her as a child so long as she acted like one; a habit of which he had though she had rid herself of by now. He interrupts her, continuing. “You will do as I ask. As I _allow_ . With these privileges-and they are more then you  _have._ Providing you with more purpose than you’ve ever known.” He watches her chest rising and falling but she remains well and silent. “You will assist the stability of this government and the support of the people." He pulls his coat on, maintaining eye contact with her as she silently wrestled with this agreement. He pulls his coat straight as the door opens and his man servant enters. He stands now still, at last pressing for her answer.

His words colour with disbelief. "If that is somehow is _distasteful to you-_ " Raising his hand to gesture towards the open window that held a world filled with promise and people who called out to her for a savior.

"You are so very presumptuous-" Her words are pained-stung.

"-Then feel free to take your leave of this offer." He shrugs his broad shoulders, his next comment is flippant. "I would not have you _commit_  yourself to a duty _unsuited_ you-"

"- **I will do it**."

His eyes gleam with a touch of triumph, but he delays his answer, playing along with her irritation. "..Of course you will." Predictably his eyes tell her, justly cross by her needless bickering only to arrive, yet again, at the simple fact of acceptance.

She was injured by his belittling, but her features resemble a block of granite. While her eyes glow intensely from the determination to fulfill his "expectations", he was to understand by her continence that this was not for his satisfaction but for her own. It truely mattered little, either way it would suit his plan well. He had already known her final answer before she even opened her mouth...

 

"I will." She repeats, affirming her commitment.

A pleased smirk tilts the corners of his mouth. "Then I will appoint you to your tasks in due time, but at present I have pressing matters."

He offers his hands as a deal maker as well as an offer of temporary peace. Lothing touches her features, and hesitency gives her pause. But firming herself, she takes it, looking as if she took a sudden chill at the contact, as the finality of the gesture and the firmness of his grip imposed a sort of claim upon her loyalty now. She grimaced too late as inwardly, he reveled.

She had felt the power if her word, and how with her compliance he could easily drag her to hell with him. Precious little she could do to stop him. Will she even dare to when the time comes? Who else has she but he?

Satisfied, he straighted himself. "Good day, Miss Frye." He then strides out the door.

 

He did not hear her answer as he left beyond her sight and her hearing.

 

~

 

Evie stood there for a while alone.

Now she knows she must put this slight good to action. By pledging herself to him, she was ensuring in some small form the reason she came to London in the first place.. Protecting its people.

 _I have not failed. I will not_. The reassurance lifted her spirits, albeit a little.

"Miss Frye?" the manservant gestures for her to exit his master's office space. She acquiesces and hears the great door close behind her.

The royal guards have their eyes on  her but she ignores them to give herself to a steady pace down the magnificent hallway, the soft sounds of her lady's slippers in rhythm to the brooding thoughts that had begun to spin.

Feeling as if she had just stepped into a body of water deeper than she had previously perceived, she took a calming breath to soothe her anxiety, and steadies her rapid heartbeat…

Deep, cooling breaths.

She denied that she was letting him get to her. She wasn’t nervous but apprehensive of these most recent developments.

Pacing the long length of the great hallway, about faces and walks back the way she had come, deep thought and heedless to the royal guards watching her gravely. Down the way. Up the way. Down the way and up the way again..

Starrick has allowed this for her-exactly what she was just coming to ask him about-to offer herself in service to a cause of the people.  _How was it that he anticipated her?_  She asks herself, feeling a flicker of worry. Unless the Shroud had giving him the power of foresight? Surely she hadn't become so obvious? So predictable.. She cursed herself silently, passing the guards again. Their sullen looks continue to watch her unease with a detached interest.

When time passed with no answers, she huffed, drawing to a stop.

 _Would you stop working yourself up?_  her own voice berated her in her head. For _godsake, you’ve got some damn rein in your hand now. Bloody use it_.

She wondered at what point in her captivity she had become her own leash.

Straightening her gown as well as her temper, she calmed her blazen thoughts. Now was not the time to worry or wonder,  her former discipline returning to crop her self pity. It was a time for action not for wallowing, so get to it! She needed to review her guidelines; her terms she had earlier scribed, for such an occasion as this, in her lonely hours of many sleepless nights. The time she had been anticipating--long and keenly waiting-- the end to whatever answer he would give.

But now that his answer was yes, she must look over them again to begin taking steps to act on whatever opportunities could arise from this..

Her posture a pillar of strength, she strode gracefully back the way to her chambers, an image of such ladylike grace her brother would have eagerly made sport. That is if he were here in her company. As painful as it was wondering where he lie, she did not let that drag her to despair. Evie kept the images fresh in her mind, to feed her fire and to stoke her fortitude. She had not forgotten, though Starrick might believe that she had.

She struck aside the door to her chambers, and went immediately to her bedside. The drawer rasped open, her hand withdrawing  her notes which contained her records of taxing, housing, labor impediments, and such other statistical details. She sat herself with a sigh on the bed, before firmly fitting herself in her own mind and imagination to this new position.

 _Formal. Advisor._ Her chest blossomed warmly, spreading the heat to her veins and feeding the hunter’s grin that swept itself over her pale freckled features.

Oh, he would test her with this new power. Of course he would, but she would not be so brash or foolish this time around. She would bide her time,  play his game until it was time for her own. She was going to play along, and play her part well..

She was going to discover where he was keeping Henry and Jacob.

 

~

Crawley

 

Henry  made futile attempts to press the counsel to probe the city with the few remainingspies. Anyone to find a weak point to strike the Templars-to rescue Evie- Ethan's own daughter-but they were resolute in denying him with quick succession and were unconcerned with his petitions. Week after week after bloody week goes by and finally as the third month passes without a single finger of action taken, Henry demands an audience.

He is summoned from his residence; two initiates come to lead him through the scripted cobble yard and into the inner chambers of the masters. The heavy doors are opened by the hooded watchmen at the door. He is silently led before them into the center of the circular room and the initiates depart.

Before he can open his mouth, a single hand raises, silencing him.

Taking turns speaking  to their points, their solemn voices are intoning an almost holy forbiddance. In infallible detail, the Council has unanimously ordered the abandonment of the city of London. He himself is to forget everything, movement, priority, target even fantasy within the walls of the city. The once great city no longer even exists in their eyes. After such an incapable display of the credibility to their Creed,  it is a miracle he and the surviving Frye has not faced charges of incompetence, disobedience, and/or conspiracy to threaten the foundation of the council.  

That he had operated with the Frye twins, knowing they did not have their official backing . Knowing that they had not been charged with the mission with official documentation or lettering was a desperate chance that he had not consulted them on. And now had caused the loss of what little eyes they had had in the city to be lost. Their collective attention and disappointment weighs like a stone upon Henry's head. He is bowed in humiliation, crushed with anger upon himself. Shamed, he listens as they finalize the acknowledgement of his listed failures.

The foremost speaker, his hood of ivory, stood demanding reverence. His voice was deep and scarred but his words sounded like hammer falls in an anti chamber, a hollow resonance like a tomb.

“Mister Mir."

His birth name is used with a cold formality.

"You will accept our standing authority inexcusably in this matter. You no have no say on the affairs  of this event.  Furthermore should you choose to address this Council again we have decided, after the most serious consideration, that the penalty for such disobedience will have you deported and your archieved history nullified for disrespecting the decree of the Creed. Falling in the light of your former crime-to which you had been banished in the first place-may even require our _permanent sentence. Death._ ”

 

Henry is shocked, his head jerking up from his feet to stare into their eyes beneath their hoods speachless. The image so long ago comes flashing back to him.. His death decreed-Ethan beseaching Henry's own father-the exile-Ethan's shame. That they would threaten such a thing causes his blood to freeze and his heart beat coldly.

 

Upon his silence, they take it for a perfect understanding. The foremost master stands as well and orders him to be removed and returned to his residence. The initiates bow obediently and Henry is escorted out for the last time, silenced by the unjustness of the proceedings, unable to utter another word..

His steps are empty and his tongue is lead. He has failed Evie not just once but _three times._

His own heart beats in silence as they take him back the long solemn hallway walk, his pulse throbbing. They bring him to his room and then leave him standing before the door. As stupid as he looks, he cannot make himself enter yet.

‘What was he to tell Jacob now?’ The resolve that he had griped solidly inside had, with their words, melted away. Such failure crushes his very soul, for what else is there for him to do?? They have removed last chance-- every means for him to go back for her--and now his exile seems to have begun all over again. The order for Henry to abandon any further effort and expected to obey roils his stomach; to accept the single fate given him unacceptable. But has he any other choice?

How could this have happened? Was all this because I have been unable to take the burden of responsibility? That I have always given the weight over to another’s shoulders because in my heart I knew I was too weak to do such? He could not use his own blade because he could not take a life. Not even those deserving of it.. Even to protect one he loved.

How sad that it all comes to this, this whole mess was his fault. All knew this, those who knew tracked him with their eyes, the concentration of their attention betraying their knowledge of knew the whole story.

Staring into the solid wood before him, he felt as if even the grains on the hard wooden door reproached him. They, standing fast to their duty, are inanimate things yet they do themselves greater honor than even he. To at least do what they were created to do, what they were fashioned for. He had turned his back on his own, the very reason he had been conceived was to become an Assassin but he had cowered; going against his very nature. He now understood the shame his father felt for him and why he had wished him beheaded.

"A shame to princes.." he remembered his father's voice, disgusted with his own flesh, just as the sound of boot steps striding towards him interrupt these inner chastisements. Without looking he knows who it is.

 

Jacob.

 

The young Frye's gait is off beat as if he is favoring a limb or nursing an injury. Probably a new one, Henry assumes sadly, knowing Jacob has been pushing himself too hard to regain what he lost with being bedridden for almost a month, then idle the next. Now he is piling injury upon former injury, along with his bitter resentment and impatience to get moving, to get back to action… To London.

The boots stop behind Henry and wait but he doesn’t move, lost for the words to attest to yet another failure. He doesn’t need them..

"Well, Henry what's the tally..? " A false smile shapes the sound of his put on positivity.

Henry closes his eyes and sighs.

Jacob mocks. "Oh, I don't suppose the council cheered with a bloody "Huzzah" and "Onward" hmm? Ribbons and honors to the courageous Mr. Green and his noble quest.."

Henry is silent.

Jacob scoffs. "Or not. Of course not.." the end word is grated with disappointment and Henry's shoulder is shoved aside as Jacob snarls past him. "I never expected you to Actually convince them anyway.."

Henry just lets him move past and into their room, then the door is promptly shut in his face again. Hurting inside and threatening to be ill, Henry allows a few moments to pass before he enters after Jacob.  
  
He closes the door with care, finding the young Frye had lowered himself painfully to the guest chair in the center of their shared room. Checking his gear and other materials.

Where could he be going?

"Jacob, I-"

"Stow it, Henry. It’s not like you’re sorry for brooding."

"Well it wasn’t 'brooding'-"

"Oh I see, you were about to point the finger to me."

"Jacob, you’re upset-"

"Oh don’t you start pretending you care about my "misfortune" now. As if you ever did-you’re just pining 'cuz you cocked up and now wish you had a pair to stand on-."

"-you do realize that is not true."

"Oh? Grown some, have we?"

"Jacob, stop berating me and just listen." Henry was tiring of Jacob's vicious finger pointing. He was trying to stay calm but the young man seemed eager to irk him into an outburst. Trying to vex him, and turn this into something it didn't need to be.

"Just listen?" Jacob paused enough to pretend. "To what? To the dying air in this room?” His mock smile pulls into a sneer, snapping in annoyance.”What are you going to blather about now? You wanted me off my sulking ass and now I’ve gone and done that, you want to nag me about something else?"

Henry confronts him. "Why do you think I am attacking you?"

Jacob scoffs. "You-attack? Laughable. Anything you attack seems to make it way without a mark to show for it. Was that why they called you ‘the Ghost?’ You’re practice for leaving nothing for anyone to show for your trouble?"

Henry bristles, hurt. "And as I recall, not once were your judgments correct in who to consider enemy and ally. thus far more the cause of troubles."

"Oh” Jacob’s face soured with hate. “To judgments now are we?"

"Yes." Henry was going to face up to him.

"Is that so then?"

"Yes. Your pride, arrogance and immaturity resulted in much unnecessary conflict. And it still does, if the way you have treated yourself these months long is to prove that at all."

Jacob snorts bitterly turning an angry circle. The room is still, the air in their quarters tense.

Henry steps forward. "If you would only listen-"

But Jacob cuts him off, indignant. His teeth flashing in his defense. "Well if you got off you cotton stuffed bookcases, and did some of the work real Assassin's do, then maybe I wouldn’t have been the only one out there risking his damn neck."

"Not all work is done with the blade, Jacob."

"And yet that's all that I needed."

"Because you have no patience. You cannot sit still for a moment, you really should-"

"-Oh I should what, Henry? Wile the day away sipping tea and reading dusty books? I was endlessly pursuing the actual work; hunting down our leads and killing every head Templar in London.. How else was it supposed to get done? By picking one's elegant nose?"

"As little of a part you imagine me to play, I was not idle-doing nothing. I was researching. Endlessly tracking new leads. Busy. Finding you targets to eliminate, not playthings; not sources for you to have a child like tantrum upon. You evidently caused an worse disarray to that poor city.."

Jacob looks at Henry. "Oh why do I hear the voice of reason telling me to yawn..?" as if expecting an actual answer to his sarcasm.

Henry was struck silent for a moment. The young Frye's harsh disinterest striking him deeply. Wounding his already broken heart. Jacob could be such a child sometimes, and thus the image was not hard to picture of an intemperate child.

"I suppose reason has wasted enough words on you and your continuing self-pity."

Jacob continued contemptuously, deflecting Henry's reasoning. "Oh do tell? And what voice bids me to stay and listen to your timid scoldings? Are you my mother?"

"If your mother was a child of Wisdom, perhaps you would recognize her voice."

Jacob's eyes went dead. Henry resisted the urge to use his hands as emphasis as he did when he had given instructions to the little orphans. He was trying to explain this as simply as he could, not like this was so difficult to understand but rather it was difficult to _make_ Jacob understand...Henry sighed.

Why did he not have the sense of his sister?

"Jacob, I was the one who was there the longest and saw the worst of it. I was there in the beginning! The one who welcomed you and offered all his connections, his time and his-"

Jacob cut him off again, he looked quite tired of the lecture. It wasn't exactly his favorite pastime.

"-Sounds to me as if you are claiming I owe you something? Hmm? I don’t owe you anything.. You needed me because you were too frightened of the Blighter bullies to even sneak out of your little shop." He snarls, eyes dark pits of fiery accusation.

"I was not frightened, I was cautious." Henry retaliates, a defensive edge coloring his tone.

"Oh. Right." Jacob saunters closer, nodding upward as if agreeing with a higher power. "So enlighten me. You tuck tail the second someone even looks at you." he stops and drops his shoulders.

"I was the only assassin in London at the time. I could not just throw myself at the enemy!"

"Right. Of course you couldn’t.."

"I could not afford to."

"..You know I would say that exact thing if I were a coward. Unfortunately, for your _easier_ understanding--I’m not. Father must not of been able to afford to spoil me..."

Oh. That stung.

Henry felt a surge of violence take over at the mention of his former mentor--and the cunning wound that was just dealt to him. If he hadn't been shocked enough, he might have struck Jacob for those callous words, and he was seriously tempted to. But he caught the edge in Jacob’s eyes; he looked ready for a brawl. Violence. Something he could take blows from and hit back.

But Henry knew that was not what was going to fix this. Only one of them could bear the burden. And so Henry took a breath to calm his nerves, control his raging emotions for both their sakes, to get to the heart of the matter, enough of these useless blows.

They both were in enough denial and pain. So he owned up to it and called Jacob out, mentioning her..

"You are upset because I failed your sister-"

Jacob throws his head back in a laugh that is just too forced it sounds more like a way not to throw a dagger in the Indian's eye for finally bringing her up. He then looks at Henry and his sick grin splits into a snarl too close to tears. "Oh, _there_ you go.."

"Yes I do. I failed her, Jacob-I admit that. And as much as it hurts me, I know how her loss has destroyed you-"

"-You don’t know a damn thing-"

"I was not blind all those months, how could I not come to know you both-"

"You think you know? And yet leaving her to Starrick's mercy was so easy-"

"It was the hardest thing-"

Jacob stalked a step closer, snarling as if protecting himself from believing a word. "The hell it was-you were scared for your own skin."

Henry's voice was raised but he did not give in to shouting. "I labored to get you to safety."

Jacob turns and walks away, throwing his arms to each side-furious- but Henry didn't stop.

"I saw that you were the one I could save." his guilt pouring in defense of his honor. "I couldn’t save both of you- especially after she went after him. By doing so, she was already dead-"

Jacob whirls around, eyes flashing. "-Damn you, Greenie-don’t you talk to me as if you're all innocent of her blood. You’re as guilty as I am of it, yet I'm the only one who seems to give a damn!"

"That is not true, Jacob. I loved her."

Jacob's face twists in disgust. "As if I give a bollocks about what you feel!-"

"-It was for her, Jacob-because she was beyond my help. I saved the person she cared about the most in this life! Surely that must count?"

Jacob was seething, his head wringing side to side like a boy lost for words. "You're a coward, Henry. Just say it."

"These are not a coward's words. And you are attacking me because there is nothing else you can do. You do not want to believe them."

Jacob's face is flushed in grief, pain, frustration and guilt, all tangible in the air seething between them. They were both as guilty of her loss as the other. All that and yet there was something else unresolved.

Acceptance. The air immediatly cools between them as they come to the understanding. They both just didn’t want to admit to the fact that her brilliant presence, precious to both of them for reasons akin and yet not was heartbreaking. They didn’t want to face it; that she may be gone.

Henry attempts an apology. "Jacob I'm so sorry.."

"Shut it, Henry..." Jacob huffs a breath of tempered civility. Then almost begs."Would you?"

Henry gives in and remains silent, watching Jacob’s shoulders knead in indiscision. After a moment they fall in a half shrug as the young man all but failed to puzzle through his thoughts. Trying and failing to convert his feelings into speach.

An aching silence forms between them as Henry watches Jacob. Hands on the grandfather clock inch their way across its face as he patiently waiting for words to come. To either of them.

They come in a whisper, from Jacob’s thin, pressed lips.

"I would just know.." Jacob's eyes are defocused; somewhere inside him, strangling him to death like a collar too tight. His eyes are glazed, in another place. "I would just know if she were..dead. I would feel it." His words carried such conviction that Henry could not doubt him. So he gave him a moment before he spoke with care.

"So you think she is alive?"

Jacob nods. "I know it." His eyes, focused and determined, sharper than wire, now meeting Henry's again.

So Henry takes the risk of approaching him, and lays a careful hand on his shoulder. Jacob doesn’t push him away this time instead stands still, accepting a small measure of comfort

"Then we will not give up." Henry is rewarded with a duh look.

"Who said anything about that?"

 

~

 

_I did not know what Jacob had in mind as he led me on. I asked where he had been planing to go earlier but all he told me was "Wait and see." I conceded to his wishes and though I wished to know what he had in mind, I was comforted that we were no longer enemies. Judging by the new way he also carried himself, I concluded that Jacob was as relieved as I was._

_He took us to George Westhouse's room, on the eastern side of estate and with a gentle rap on the door awaited the door._

_"Jacob" I had pressed again but he raised an arm as if waving off a fly and said. "Shh." I sighed again and waited._

_A moment later, George himself opened the door, his travel clothes freshly spattered with earth. He blinked in surprise at Jacob then myself. "In the Lord's name-"_

_Jacob had taken the moment to press his shoulder inside. "And we are just as glad to see you too, George.." and let himself in. George seemed confused but more or less amused as he opened the door the rest of the way as a means of invitation to myself, who had not invited myself in.._

_"Thank you, George." was all I said even as he inquired with a brow as to my coming. I didn't know and so I shrugged and pointed to Jacob, who was roaming a circle in the room, rubbing his hands with glee._

_George closed the door. "I was just about to call for you both. The news I have is quite good."_

_He was smiling in a hopeful way but that was what George said and did even when the news was bad. I was prepared to listen but Jacob interrupted again. "George, I've a great need for you."_

_George sighed in a way that seemed like he and Jacob had argued like this many times before. "Now Jacob, what is this all about?" he sounded pleased to have been allowed back into the realm of 'worthy to notice', since Jacob had all but nullified his existence in the last few months but then he seemed to easily step back into his part of 'scolding, esperated mentor'._

_"George, I've known you for a long time-" Jacob started again._

_"And this is beginning to sound like everything I've ever agreed "no" to before." George murmered in my direction with a grin._

_"Then let me come out flat with it."_

_"Please, do." I added, eager to hear what Jacob was up to._

_Jacob stalked closer. "I understand how we are forbidden to leave the grounds, for me to have a constant presence once I've set foot outside and Henry himself who is no longer allowed to leave the estate itself." he looks between the men._

_"Why do I get the feeling that you are about to ask me somthing that requires turning a blind eye.."_

_"Because you're as clever as I remember you to be?" Jacob supplied._

_George sighs. "Jacob, this whole ordeal started because you did not want to listen. You wanted to go and make a show of yourself and now look where it has led us. There is nothing in London for you, and you are still hurt as it is..."_

_Jacob tutted a finger at him, undeterred. "But we **had** Starrick. We had him.  All we need to do so we can do it again-"_

_"Jacob." George was trying to unconvince him. Again. "You can't, its not that simple. The Counsil has declared-"_

_And honestly, that is when I lost track of the conversasion._

_I stood there, Evie. I listening to the bicker about things that no longer mattered. I had had a dead hope that perhaps your brother's enduring persistence and wit could inspire Mister Westhouse into joining us. But he was struggling to make his case. It was exhausting._

_Jacob wanted to go to London behind the Council's back, with George's help, and undermine the rebuilding of the Templar strength that they knew was happening. George was trying to convince him to be patient and to listen to his superiors, that haste in this situation would only bring harder times. Jacob wanted things now and George was willing for a decade to pass._

_"Time is all we need" he had said. "You wait any longer-" Jacob had countered. "And there won't be any time left."_

_At this point, I stepped between them. Pleading. "This is going nowheres. Both of you." and I watched Jacob, he was on the verge of rage or tears at this point. His last hope dashed agianst George's placating iron will._

_"This is hard for you to take, I understand Jacob."_

_George gestured with understanding. But by now Jacob had abandoned convincing and was instead begging.  
_

_"George, this is about Evie!"_

_"I understand it is about her-"_

_Jacob was near screaming. "-She could be dead!"_

_George spread his arms outward, exasperated "But-she- isn't."_

_We both froze._

_My blood hiccuped in my viens just as Jacob choked on the breath that had been about to tear past his throat in argument. That was until we realized what George had just said.  
_

_"What??" We both demanded in unison._

_George was all collected calm and seriousness._

_"That was what I was coming to speak to you about..." Stated simply as a matter of  fact._

_I found my tongue enough to stutter. "George, how can you know this..?"_

_Just as he opened one of his pouches that rested on his worn leather belt. From there he pulled out a letter, extending it to me but Jacob snatched it before I even had gotten my breath back._

_"Wha. Wha-t does it say..?" Jacob's hands were almost shaking as he was trying to read the words fast enough and calm his skipping heart all at once. He couldn't evidently because he jerked upright and demanded. "How do you know that she-"_

_George held his hands up as if begging us to let him explain. For once Jacob fell silent._

_"Because that letter is from his majesty Duleep Singh. He specifically mentions Evie at the same time sending word; warning us to keep away from London at all costs. He says that no assassin sympathizer is left in all of London but himself. With no one left and given his currant circumstances, he will do all he can but his resorces are limited to written knowledge."  
_

_I could hardly breath. Jacob's eyes were wild but he managed to whisper. "so you are saying that HE-got this letter HERE-and despite what we've heard.."_

_"Jacob, dont-" I tryed to stop him but his eyes were on fire for the first time in months._

_"George, you bloody bastard-" Jacob rushed up to him. "You are saying that we have eyes in the city?"_

_"Jacob-" I tryed again._

_"Shut it, Greenie." he turned to George who was already shaking his head. "You can get us into the city."_

_"Jacob, did you hear anything-"_

_Jacob's smile twisted with a vicious edge of determination. "Yes. I believe you just told me that my sister isn't dead. And that you know someone that has someone who KNOWS how to get IN and OUT of London without being seen. And you know that you are going to help me because you'd hate to be the reason I accidentily got myself killed. Hm?"_

_George spared me one glance but he knew he wasn't going to leave this room giving 'no' as an answer. He sighed dramatically.  
_

_"Why do I feel as though I've already agreed to go along with this?"_

_I smiled full of renewed life, and clapped my hands to both of their shoulders._

_Jacob grinning like the devil and clapped his own heavy hands to poor George._

_"Oh come now dear George, I knew you cared..."_

 

 

 ~

 

Buckingham Palace. Three weeks till the Grand Ball.

 

These last two weeks Evie had watched the palace reform itself in everyway possible.

History was changing before her eyes, it was being made new. An idea impossible, and yet it was happening. She watched the library stripped of all literature in every room of the palace(for literary reform, they had said). After that, they stripped down all the royal family's portraits, country flags, cerimonial busts. New appoulstry was then rehung, layed out and arranged; exquisitely complimenting every window, seating arrangment or guest quarters. All guests quarters, company rooms, all dining rooms were refurnished until nothing she had known in her time here remained. The palace became a stranger's home again, every inch being lavashly prepared, for what she foresaw, as a great coming.

Starrick himself was about the palace, speaking often with the servantsmen organizing all the arraingments. He had a vision, it seemed, and all obeyed without question.

Her memory danced along the lines of her most recent literary conquest, the amount of time on her hands had begun to show by her momorization of passages.

' _Oh, why man would always crave power.. to be the gods amongst men, amongst men.' she found herself quoting that book he had had her read months earlier._

She watches the pair discussing a list. they stand shoulder to shouder as the elder man servent holds a paper inbetween his immaculatly crisp white gloves. Starrick beside him murmers softly, his brow low with care.

Her eyes watch their lips carefully and trying to read them as the speak, but as they are aware of her, they murmer with care. She turns her attention to the rest, wondering to herself as she moved on within her palace's boundries, how much the outside world must have changed in comparisin with all she now witnessed inside. She wondered about Mrs. Nightengale. About Clara. Mr. Abberline. A fleeting thought made her even hope that Ned was alright or had atleast escaped the city. She did not know what sort of stringent measures were strangling those left out there But she knew once her position was secured, that all such information would have to come before her. She would finally know, and be able to do somthing about it.

She longed for the Ball to be done with. So that she may finally get to work again.

Her pale eyes swept the stairs and the balconies around her, watching all around her as they bustle to and fro. The scene surrounding Evie Frye is one of glory, luxery and the incomparable wealth possible in the world.

Starrick's final reveal and the world would rise only to fall before him, even as she had. Her idle fingers trace sad melodies into the polished ebony handrail, as a lonely song plays in the backround noise...

She is lost, left to wonder and to wander on.

 

~

 

_I hardly remember those weeks, and the entrys to my journal had become less and less worth noting. Truelly I had nothing to say, even to myself, for my curiosity was allowed only so far and my efforts to seek out what was not yet shown to me were rebuffed. My thoughts repeated themselves continuously in my head and I tired of their repetition._

_I closed it, and waited for somthing of actual note; for somthing worthwhile to occure._

 

~

 

London. One week before the Ball.

 

Starrick looked out over his city, his virgin empire. A great city, raw as clay; as a virgin on her marriage bed, that can also be open to new possibilities with the right touch. Images and yearning churn inside him as he envisions this. His mind drifts with a thought as to how he is to reform two women; one of stone and steel. And the other? Her cold flesh her flesh like seguine granite... 

The Templar stood tall in the cold April sky. His head was bare, cheeks rudy from the weather but warming with the lusting thoughts of power and will, within and without. He was dressed with nobility; the polished gold and passionate violet colours showing himself as the next royalty to grace England. Adorning his broad shoulders rested a Burgundy, fur cloak that drove off the sharp fangs of the gale from so high up. The spires to the cities cathedrals were arms reaching to heaven. Begging the clouds above, and the foul of the air to flutter around their fingers. He imaginged as the falcons swooped through the air so high, dancing in the wind that tugged at dignity of his cloak, that they were the very ideal of the Assassin's Creed. So high above all, but not so high as to challenge the higher power; they saw fit to judge, to watch, to scorn and to imbibe their indulgance for false power; and to use their position in this world as the justification that all was their right.

As if this world, like the birds themselves must think now because they have had no greater predator to fear. Ah, how he felt a stiff pull of humor drag the muscles of his cold face into a dark sneer of anticipation. Oh how they cowered now, in the face of his victory. And how they would grovel once news reached them of his coronation. The people of the city truely believed the rumors spread; how Assassins had slain the Queen and her cabinet. Even her majesties bishops and cardinals had been gutted in their chapels. Miss Frye was unaware of how, even if she dared escape, that once the people recognized her--alone--that their fear and rage would hang her alive. 

It was better that she not know what her beloved people had become in her absence.

He was pleased, not surprised, that she had accepted her new position as adviser. He was eager for her to become accostomed to cooperating with his interests, and alongside him, to realize how wrong she was with her view of the world. She would test his patience, his pride and his resolve on every issue. He counted on it.

So raising his head to the freezing breeze, he took in the scent of his mighty world. His guiding hand now aiding England to become the grandest and most feared continents in Europe. India suppling riches and commerce and soon slaves to trade; England's ports and docks were bustling, full of industry and trade. Dark smoke wafing through the air and into his nostrals, electrifying his sense. His thick blood curled through his veins, driving always towards success. And purpose.

He watches from on high as many visitors and guests arrive. Carriages bursting with load and luggage, to disgorge themselves into the nearest hotel, only to go back to the ships for more. Everyone was talking about His Ball. Everyone here was here because of it, so very eager to attend the monumental event. The Ball that would out shine the impossibility of the Eifle tower and make an even greater mark in history then the Pyrimids of Egypt. His history was to begin now, he held his eyes to imagine--

Standing steadfast, he saw order finally coming into elignment. For he, Crawford Starrick had taken the seat of London.

And with it, and the Shroud's power, he will rule it all.

 

~

 

The day of the Lordship Cerimony.

 

Evie stood straight and strong, her long legs like iron rods. She is afraid? Nervous?

The muscles of her legs jump and tremble with her anxiety, her eyes rooted in the horror of her dainty reflection.

Deep in thought she hardly is aware of the maid tightening her ivory corset lace by lace, fitting every layer with a pinch or a tug, so that every layer fell into its proper place. Evie's mind was absorbed by what would be expected of her after this day, finally realizing what "advising" Starrick would intail.

A Templar. A murderer. She was going to stand at his side and condone his handy work and speedy the progress of his designs. Where she had been desparate and even rejoicing before, in its place she was filled with a cold emptiness. The kind that keeps you up at night, awaiting some evil that was bound to happen.

She realized now that he was not making her do anything, that with this..deal she had made with him, that she was giving herself to his cause, freely. Willfully. And fully conscious of the anormity of betrayal that this would be. Not just to who she had been but to all who had vouched for her conscience and character, those who had trained her. watched over her-- she was trading all these things, and spitting of her father's memory by standing with this Grand Master Templar. She hadn't slept and hadn't eaten since the morning prior, so sick was she with indiscision. Starrick had not noticed her 'condition' for he had not spared her more then a dozen words in a sentence for the last 8 days; So occupied he was with the final affairs, the only times she saw him at legth were as they shared the day's last meal.

 

She remembered last evening dimly. The maid finishing adjusting her corset begans to fit her into the rediculous golden silk ball gown..

Last night he had been silently reviewing the final arrangements. His color lessened after an exhausting day, reading over the last invitations, number of official persons attending, and the small number of ambassadors from at least three different countrys who were to be attending.

When the headman entered. Starrick raised his head.

"Sir, a selection of your _particular guests_ have arrived."

Evie looked from the messanger to Starrick, her spoon she delicatly set back in her bowl as she watched him. His eyes met her's for only a moment before he too set down his silver.

"Have them come upstairs." he wiped his hands gently.

The headman bowed and closed the door. Evie watched him gesture at one of the waiting staff to take his papers to his quarters. Then he spared her a look, addressed her.

"As their time will take up the remainder of my evening I bid you goodnight."

She felt almost affronted at being so left out of the goings on. It must have shown a little for his eyes almost softened. He stood slowly. "My appologies, Eveline. I do not mean to leave you in want-"

"I understand the importance of your business. I look forward to the day after next when I shall be able to partake in your affairs." She was almost curt, and his eyes drank in her severity, awaiting that exact moment.

"Ah, Yes. I look forward to then as well. Your clarity and oppinion are eagerly awaited in the Grand Office." She stared back at him, she had not expected him to be eager..

"You will see reform." As firmly as she ment that, she saw the tone of his gaze as he swept it across her seated form and again she felt less then what she was trying so hard to be.

"It will be most refreshing." Their eyes appraised the other in posture, tone and intention but both appeared tired and in want.

When she could stand his delay no longer, she dipped her chin respectfully. "Goodnight, Starrick." She wished to drive him to his business before he lingered uncomfortably so.

Yet, he delayed a moment longer, taking time to slip his strong hand and nimble fingers back into his proper white uniform gloves. Breaking his gaze for a moment to adjust them, he took a breath. The colour of his voice, when he spoke, was a tone deep and rich, almost warm. His gaze swept up to meet her again.

"Rest well tonight, for tomorrow much will be expected of you."

She braced stiffly, feeling the heat of his eyes again raise a blush up her neck. When she found herself unable to speak with dignity, she inclined her head in a way of acknowledgement.

He appeared satisfied, and nodded back. Turning to the door, he departed with the air of a nobility; as if he were already London's king.

Evie felt that hot spark of hate and hurt flash inside her again. She gentle hand clenched with old fury and she struck downward upon the rich table, silverware and china singing at the jarring blow. His glass of wine tottering at the head of the abandoned table but by it's grace, it remained upright and settled again. With a swift whirl of rich silk, Evie rose and departed towards her own chamber, their supper left forgotten, uneaten, left to become cold with both lord and lady's absence. Each having their own business.

She saw nothing as she made her way up the staircase, up the hall past the breakfast room. Her acute senses found it's air fresh smelling and clean, but for that very reason(curious) she slowed to a stop. A moment later a gust of fresh, cool are nipped at her bare arms. 

 _An open window?_ Now longing, she tossed her eyes about, wondering how many of the rooms had been given such permission.

She walked back the ways she had come, iinvestigating the rest of the hall windows and found them all open and welcoming the night air. It was invigorating, so fresh, so free that she no longer wished to go to her room. Instead, she entered the drawing room.

It was evening and the door windows were open to the breeze, a guard standing watch. He watches her, silent. But she has no interest in him as she draws into the room. The open door briefly pulls a rush of air inward and it tosses the edges of her dress about. Another gusts and her skirt edge flaps, making the sound of a bird in flight--A gasp almost breaks from her lips as a rush of memories come with the wind. An eagle's cry, the scream of the wind, the singing in her blood as the world drags her from her place in the sky. The memories of the tallest heights in London and how she so easily had thrown herself from them. Her faith in the landing, flying free.

Opening her eyes again, she beheld her prison once more. The windows had been barred for so long that it was like the room had become a new world to her agian. As when she and Jacob had first come her, ready for daring and conquest.

But now was not then, reality creeping cold upon her shoulders. She was here, not there. She was to attend a ball tomorrow, herself half wondered now what the rest of the palace was going to feel like. So changed? The same? It had been the talk, that she knew, that the late Queen Victoria's ball was going to be nothing in comparison to the glory of the next day's ceremony. And after the ceremony was going to be her chance again.

Her chance to.. his words came back to her. How he "looked forward to her" Since when did a Templar look forward to such things with his enemy?

She thought about this, wrestling with his hidden meaning. Pacing, she found herself before one of the decorational vases that were arranged throughout the palace now.

A bouquet of large fresh cut roses were what she beheld. Red as blood but soft as silk. She stared at them with cool attention, then with diliberation she touched her fingers to the thorns and pressed.She felt them prick her dainty pale skin and watched her finger bleed. To which her finger throbedb, softly, in tune with her steady pulse.

His words came to her again, the focus in his eyes and the purr of his dark intentions. The rose was just like him; soft and beautiful and cruel. She touched the petals, her pale blue eyes falling in disgust of such beauty.

_Like him. A promise of love at the cost of sorrow, deceit and pain._

 

She faded from the memory, to here, standing before the mirror. She saw her form dressed like a princess in jewels and lothed it all. Her strength, virtue of intimidation and violent talents were covered and smothered in layers of silk and fine linens. She was nothing now, attempting to renew herself, as if to discover her new true purpose, if not her life long destiny she had once been, as an Assassin. If this now was her lot, she would now make the most of it. Dressed as a play thing or not, she smiled at her reflection _. I will do this_.

The maid anounced she was done, so Evie stepped away from the dressing corner. Smoothing the gown, she proudly made her way out of her room. The hallway was already teaming with pairs of royal guards, the voices of many people echoing all throughout the corridors. A pair of welldressed guardsmen stepped up from where they had been waiting for her.

"This way, Ms." Their purpose to escort her to her place at Starrick's side, to welcome the arriving guests in his honor.

Before she became nervous again, before anticipating the end of this day, she straightened to her full height. Daring this day. Nodding to the men, she led the way down, her escorts descending the stairs behind her. With graceful steps of determination she made her way towards the sounds of music and historical celebration.

 

~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The haitus is over! 
> 
> My most profound thanks go out to every reader that bothered to came back after this eternal near seven month delay, to those who even cared to read this long awaited chapter. You have all heard me appologize for my delays and lengthly editting, "Im sorry" by now is rather old. Instead I am only pushing towards discipling myself to have an actual scheduled "writing time". 
> 
> I also am honoured to have my first volunteer beta reader(s)! Special thanks to reneediablo:) whose input, correction and fresh suggestion gave me a much needed PUSH and got me past my crippling writers block.  
> Also to vampirebadger who gave me tips/corrections on my horrid grammer;)  
> Thank you darlings! <3<3<3
> 
> 10,955 words btw.
> 
> Again, you all have my most gratitious indebtment. God bless you ALL and a most blessed MERRY CHRISTMAS!


	5. Her Heart Paled Blue

 

 

~

 

 

The Lordship Ceremony Ball, 16 April 1869.

  
_At last had come the Ball everyone hadn't stopped speaking of. The day upon us all, I feared what he would do once he had absolute power, without realizing that absolute power was what he had already. It was only an illusion of a hope that kept this fact from my knowing. Again, it was hope for good, hope for better, hope for change that evidently was my downfall._

_The soft clipping of my heels as I descended the east grand stairway reminded me of the part I played now. But was it forced if I had given myself to this for a greater good other then myself? I had been thinking since I had first woken to this day, thoughts of the morrow whirling through my mind, to that moment when I would have to answer to him as one of his very own. I had my plot, yes, but it never worked out the way I had planned. We ended up partners of a sort, and sadly I came to admire his detail, his attention and his dedication to any task at hand and his resiliant oppinion that could not be daunted. His patience for me was also somthing akin to somthing I could not quite place. I still do not know how it came to pass...the idea forming--nagging-- that somthing was growing between us. It was just such a peculiar thing._

_But the Ball was a thing one only heard of ancient King's courts, lavish is too dull a word for the disgusting amount of wealth and glory he displayed that day. As soon as my eyes came upon the ballroom itself and then later once all guests had arrived, all I saw was an ocean of dancing flower petals; ladies adorned so elaboratly all around me that I had to pause in wonder; this was the most elegant crowd of persons I had ever layed eyes to before. True, I had been in the presence of greater crowds but for a formal occasion of this sort, this was even too grand. Starrick had truly outdone himself with his selection of company aned making this a day no one would forget. Photographers and newsmen were everywhere, lingering in corners and capturing all this beauty on film, to be memorialized forever in London's heart and history. And the glory of such a historically rich day would cover the newspapers for months if not years. They would make it over all the continents, of this I was certain._

_I could not help but admire the distant exquisitness, the foreign beauty of the international persons as they showed themselves off in all their cultural elagance and splendor. As little as I tryed to, I could not help glimsing my passing reflections, and inside fluttered that timid lady's question of 'Do I compare to these?' I struck that away imdediatly but the knowing of 'You surpass them" could not be quenched and my own pride was flattered. Being that my own ball gown must have been crafted by a seamstress of one of the best in the city, my gown put the rest to dreadful shame..._

_Jacob? Do you hate me for what I am becoming?_

 

~

 

Such thought burn inside Evie as she descends the East staircase. Flanked by her set of watchmen she was resigned to behave, but their presence did little to humble her. An escort to the ball itself was what they provided, as if she were a grand sort of person to need guarding.

Her eyes were bound to her careful steps, only caring to look upward and around a faint number of times. And so she did not notice at first whose eyes she was flattering and whose very body was flushed with the heat of pride at the sight if her.

 

_'Lady Eveline. How my time with you has crafted a magnificent thing. With the graceful presence of a maiden vessel you stand poised to begin your first voyage. I see trepidation still pulls at those tender footsteps. Your posture you hold so carefully, as in reluctence but you must be impatient to be done with what had not yet even begun; attempting to appear unconquered and unafraid of what was is sure to come after.'_

Starrick could only wonder to himself as he knew the vision that he had for her. For that to come fully it would be yet another year at least, if not longer depending on his approach and her steady cooperation. In practice it was like his offering her a title as he had, and to how easily she gave her word to his cause. As much as for need or charity it had seemed, it wasn't. It was an intentional move to achieve an end. And it was to be the first of many.

The very evening before he had greeted his Templar associates and full of power, he addressed them as inferiors. Not setting himself against them but rather instead he was setting himself apart from them. In such as their manner, this day, they did not dispute it. He had earned such a right in their eyes by at last securing such an artifact and so he was given respect. They did not understand Miss Frye's part in all this, to them she seemed such an unnecessary risk and frankly a foolish endeavor but he claimed that all was his design and decision, and so they dismissed any further discussion about her, unconcerning themselves with that choice of his except to ensure that her presence would not undo any of his work. He assured them that she would not.

Easily they passed on to--at last-- what had brought them all here in the first place; having the need to see and to understand his new power. He obliged them, leading up to it by a passionate narrative of the whole of his struggle and trouble with the Frye twins Assassins. The undoing of his hold on the gangs, his falls, their gains, all to his loss of his dear cousin and Miss Thorne. His rich voice had risen to the crescendo of pride as he elaborated upon his grand scheme to assassinate the Queen and the infiltration into his men into her own ranks. After that, quickly he concluded with his discovery of the Crypt, his dance with Miss Frye, his retrieval of the key and on to his supreme victory over the three Assassins in the Crypt. After that, his taking Eveline hostage, his assumption of all powers of church and state, and then--he brought before their eyes the Artifact itself...

Locked away in an iron ribbed box at the time, the Shroud had lain glowing and golden. The golden box it had been in originally had been replicated and now resided in the treasury room as a decoy. The Grand Masters all agreed a splendid guise, and each displayed varied levels of admiration or awe as they had marveled at the glory of the Piece of Eden. All deferred to him now out of respect, and with him at their head, they marveled at their glorious new future.

 

Starrick is drawn from the memory to watch her come to him from on high. His Eveline herself, gilded gown of gold so alike to his Piece of Eden that she was it's match; a delicate vision of angelic grace. Dressed more fine then a grand duchess, her golden gown fell gracefully across the mature curves of her body. The ruffled angel white lace encircling the bottom hem gently brushed her slippers and hung along the short sleeves that dressed her lean muscled arms. Folded over with thick silk folds of heavenly brilliance that showcased against the dark frame of her hair, elegantly dotted with woven pearl pins and twisted up tightly, with bobbing curls who danced upon the back of her neck as she walked, no matter how careful she stepped.

Yes, she was to be his future and nothing less would sate him. As if displaced in time, he beheld her entirely and took every detail to his imagination- Her bodice showcased her womanly form, proclaiming her maturity and good breeding, while her intelligence gleamed from her azure eyes, her hair glistening robust, her tresses like the waves of a dark sea were wrapped into a soft bun which nested upon the crown of her head. As beautiful a vissage as she appeared, those feminine features did nothing to soften the edge of her sharp eyes and ready posture; both set in a mask of inner discipline that was soft enough to be proper but not necessarily kind or anything remotely gentle.

_'From the moment I first met you, I understood everything I had first thought of you to be such a horrid misunderstanding. It was not a woman I danced with but a young girl--a mere child--as if play pretending, wearing her father's boots. I wonder what you thought of me as we stood face to face in that first moment. So full of ambition and vision but realizing slowly how you had misjudged me and how I had overestimated you. Two of a kind we are, and it was only what I saw in those few moments that moved me to spare you. Will you ever come to understand this?'_

Then came the moment to which she finally came to meet his eyes with her own. Arrayed as all of this, she was armed with her critical opinion still sick with the lingerings of her narrow-minded slavery. These failings; Her shallow vision, as sour as it appeared most often--bittering her beauty with her thoughtlessly rash thoughts, childish mannerisms, weak words and poor judgments--they were weapons he non-the-less admired and would eventually make his use of. And that as frustrating as she could be to him, oh what meager sufferings this was in the light of knowing she would eventually give way to him. How he would taste her anger and relish the passionate fever of her skin once he took her completely into his arms was a thing he dreams eagerly for. Being in this age and world society has structured certain rules for the lady or noble women, sickly and coarse; flattered and pompously soft in that they were frail and tasteless as dough. Too easy to please with little care or complex, nothing healthy or spirited enough to struggle or argue with intelligence and vigor. A test of worthiness to the opposite in question, a tempest of domination amidst the night that sparks alight with a bosom pair of blazing tempers...

But not by his taking would this come to be, it was to be his only by _her_ will and by her will to give to him _alone_. That he may press her and tempt her or persuade to it or perhaps may become the way, but regardless of the circumstance he will have it be only by her choosing to be.

 

With these final thoughts of his, her steps slowed to a still. She had noted his fixed attention after her for a long while now and her pale flesh blossomed, revulsion distastefully plain in her for his obvious fascinations. It was obviously humbling in having no means to dissuade him but she carried on with strength, as she always had ever and didn't waver. He likewise held her burning gaze with a depth of definition in his own that spoke to her of a sense of her belonging here, and by extension--belonging to himself. He extends his crisp white glove to her as a gentleman and watched her jaw grind in defiant reluctance but she immediately tempered her visage with a polite nod and took the offered hand.

Neither chose to look away from the daring of each other's eyes. A contest of wills it appeared, he more then challenging in the face of the roiling storm she was. A rousing zealous fury spun within her depths, a torrid tempest raging inside herself, that by her very nature she was daring him to cross her. That she had regained some of her spirit in his absence was no strange thing, but it was something that would end tonight. He would remind her who was Grand Master here... The driving gale of her spirit was governed by her needed a direction in which to cast itself, a thing that was untamable as the wind. But that being so meant that all he needed was to design a way to capture this gale--this spirit of her own that so longed to run free again--and it was by her new position he intended to this to be; this very direction she sought and for her to believe this--that through him she had found this hope after so long of him having it kept bound and out of her reach.

 _'What shall we be by the end of all this, my Eveline?'_ His crisp white glove which held her bare hand firmly, secured between the iron bars of his gentle fingers.

What remained was the work of capturing her yearning momentum in the billowing sail of his influence for her, and shaping her mind and loyalty to a cause she must put above herself. She was accustomed to personal sacrifice, abhoring flattery and the restrictions he had been smothering her with. But again all was for purpose--so that at the first chance he gave her that she would leap without looking downward, giving her faith to the winds of fate and his own desire.

_'I know what we shall be. But do you?'_

After this he would gently steer her ambition and need to where his primary interests lay and what he envisioned her--them--to be. As his doctrinal argument had shed her of her old cult, he had by that set her free. For all this violence teeming within her soul, he was aware that she yet remained a woman--a creature broiling with hearty emotions and tender tendencies, impulses to think with her heart and conscience; tendencies opposite of his own and necessity, both burdened by the weight of personal feelings.

He pulled her down from the last step to his level and with a dismissive wave he sent her escort away, searching her eyes before their evening together; both taking a moment to reevaluate each other. She was the wild image of what he desired, her yearning for justice and goodness was a child's dream, a dream to which she had sold her soul for and it was this very thing he actually needed from her and more importantly for her to relinquish herself to him willingly. It was her driving will, her inexhaustible inner strength and perseverance against any odds that drove her as surely as the Atlantic winds that carried his own conquering fleet. It was the same that they all belonged to him and served his greater purpose. Eveline was just the same, she would submit and once he had secured her will in his own, she would carry this vision in herself...and through his seed they would reach over the whole world.

 

She took his hand, unaware of his delving designs but true to her nature she remained wary in the fore of his undivided attentions. He guided her down gently. "Are you ready for this evening, Miss Frye?"

She stood at her full height magnificent, not understanding the true nature of his question. But she must have seen the future simmering behind his innocent question, for she was the one to finally look away, instead fixing her eyes forward to the garnered decorations that hung about in brilliant violets and scarlet and gold, accenting every corner and every pillar of the stunning room.

Anything instead of meeting him with her eyes, she stood resolute as he slowly led her to her place of presentation. The grand double doors were then just opening, servants opening the vast dance floor to the late morning air.  
Her words were tight with put on scorn and annoyance. "What does my readiness matter?"

"It matters as this is your last night to behave as you wish, before a new era begins and you move on from your former ways of want and indecision. You will at last be free."

She says nothing in return. The first of the guest's carriages drawing up to the courtyard beyond.

 

~

 

And so it began at quarter past one in the afternoon, all manner of guests and nationalities swept through the double doors as ten charming hosts politely greeted the stream of the dazzling crowd. And soon the babble of thousands of voices resounding booming through the air of the vast ante chamber. The colossal ceiling echoed every footstep and word of greeting and gossip that filled the enormous room and curtains of brilliant silk were woven against doorways and staircases, with rich drapes twisted into plump bows along the table corners.

Starrick himself hung back away from them, standing above and apart but visible to all as a monument to power and greatness. Immediately the members of the newspapers got to work setting up their large contraptions of photography that were bulky and blinding with brilliantly flashing bolts of lighting to capturing this day--his day--in history forever.

All were shown a side room on each side of the main ballroom presenting an abundance of refreshments, all manner of beer, wine and ale in pitchers or silver and crystal glass. A variety of sliced cold meats, fresh fruits, elaborate desserts and delicate sweets that were in decorated into pyramids of little platters and towers, all designed in a colorful display of effortless wealth. The effect of it all to grand effect.

Three o' clock was the appointed time of the coronation, enough time to receive all guests and maintain their collective comforts, though not too long to have them wait. Starrick had given Eveline her place to stand near the base of the great staircase, where the coronation itself was to take place. He himself was busy greeting the ambassadors of the foremost important continents, France, Spain and China especially in the light of the healing of the harm done by last August's Yangzou Riots. Was anything changed in England's foreign policy? They wondered. The news had reached all countries and had kindled their individual concerns with how his takeover of the grand State of England--the British Empire now--was going to impact their own countries relations and how they should act with this. Since it was an assassination, were there no surviving heirs to claim the throne besides himself? And for Spain, this was a question of whether his take over should be investigated into by the late Queen's Allied countries.

Starrick expertly soothed their unease, his calm presence and consistency to his history of the events was infectious, they didn't argue as he insisting that nothing diplomatically was to change conclusively. All further matters of state and foreign diplomacy were to be discussed the following day, that their arrangements in the palace had already been organized in anticipation and they were welcome to stay as long as needed to ensure that their interests were understood on this matter. Also any inquiries into the full account of what had occurred would be dealt with there in meeting as well. Tonight was for the coronation and for all the world to birth a new age of understanding and purpose.

And so it was.

 

 

~

 

The moment comes, silence casting the entire ballroom in a state of suspension. All the hundreds of attendants were clutching crisp gloves in anticipation, all eyes were fixed on the royal podium whilst the bulbs flashed, capturing this historical moments in time. And everyone stood fast, holding their collective breath.

The grand cardinal himself stood in his scarlet robes before Starrick, a small but thick leather bound book clutched in his hand as he recited the lines in ceremony, Starrick himself repeated the oaths after the minister. The duty to which he was forever after burdening himself with was found in his posture and gaze, both grave as stone and hard as his own refined steel. To many it was as if this were the late Queen Victoria's funeral again, only his presence was no longer remorseful but instead vibrant with the intoxicating strength of his confidence and conviction.

Throughout all this, Evie stood in a hollow silence, her mind raging to contain her conscience and it's arguments with what she was committing herself to. The cause she was aiding with her presence alone, not even with the active involvement that was to ensue.

Her hands were held in front of her, posed in harmless femininity, but it was rather to stifle the quaking of her right hand that was clenched rigidly. Her former talents for keeping her countenance, ensuring that her appearance was as stern as a stone bust, and this served her well. But it did nothing to sooth her distress for what she was witnessing--and indeed despite her arguments--partaking in. She swallowed carefully, composed through all of this. But her second sight flickered surprising her, instinctualy flashing outward over the crowd in a ripple like a lost stone dropped into time, a product of her anxiety..

The familiar colors and focus wash in and out. She expects the reds and the ignorant blues but amidst those colors and shadows a silhouette of white/gold shone en center. Evie's heart clutched in a sudden shock and the second sight fell from her eyes, replacing its brilliance with the dull mottled colors of the world and flesh. What she then had suddenly before her eyes amidst the mass of people there, stood a ghost-

_'Father?'_

And so it was, his image unforgettable. His white hood casting a great shadow upon his features and dark eyes. Eyes that met hers and stared at her with decades of pain and grief, boring into her soul like nothing she had ever felt before. She swallowed tears back from such a violent and sudden hope, instantly realizing that this was not in the real world, but only a vision-a memory that had birthed from her desperate and lonely imagination.

Blinking him away did nothing to help, he continued to stare long before he started towards her. His form bleeding it's way in between the shoulders of the crowd. And the closer he came, the harder it became for her to breathe, now showing how his soft brown robes were stained with bloodied marks; a testimonial to all his sacrifice and effort in this very city--This damn city--to which she was finishing to help destroy and blotting out all he had strove for and to evidently fail to accomplish. yes, at the hands of his own blood, his only daughter! the one who mirrored his very image... She saw in his eyes that she was all but striking him upon his very face.

Evie watched him part the crowd like Moses parting the Red Sea, her heart beating in hollow guilt as he looked to either side of her, looking from assembled templars to Grand Master Templar. His gaze came back to her with eyes now pale as death, they were critical and judging as if she had been the one who had destroyed him. Having found her standing beside the very heads of the Order.

Lost for words she could only gaze helpless. 'Father, please understand.' She would have begged him but her tongue was still as stone. So lost in this vision that she had forgotten even where she stood in this moment, her hands now clutched into fists at her side as her mind throbbed backward in time, to memories of the night he died passing before her eyes, same now glimmering in his own.

 

_George had held them backward, holding them from the room as Ethan, their father, had not wanted them to be there to witness his bitter death. Jacob had not wanted to see this either but she knew their duties as Ethan's children demanded that they see him onward to death. and she had dragged her brother to the sickroom._

_"Master Westhouse." she had confronted him with all her stubborn strength. "Let us see him."_

_George cast a glance backward to her father before refusing them again. "Go children, respect the man's dying wishes-'_

_"-It is our right and responsibility to see our father into the life that awaits those who pass on in death." She remembers hearing the heaving sob of broken heartache coming from within the room, and she knew it was Ethan, her dear father who had broke the silence from behind George upon hearing her voice. It shook her resolve, her young heart aching bitterly of knowing this to be their last goodbye.._.

 

The memory is stifled as she returns to the present-to the ball and her father in the crowd. His eyes boring into hers, leaving her aching the same as she had that day. And then even more so to find she has nothing of sense to say to him. Only able to wordlessly watch the beloved ghost of her father back away from her, the corners of his mouth seeping scarlet tears till with a bow of his head he was enveloped by nothingness and gone.

Leaving her hollow as she stood behind Starrick, alongside those of his own company as if she were now an accepted member of his own legion...

 

~

_The ball was beautiful. Outstanding and glorious in all of its granduer. So many faces of so many people I knew or had heard of, an ocean of ignorance and smiles that struck me from every side. How blind all were to who now was their master, but as Starrick knew and had shared with me, that so long as they are cared for and comfortable, the masses will tolerate so much more-so long as their way of life does not change too much, they will waste no effort in resisting._

_I cannot help but recite the wise words of age old men before me, having nothing else in my power to do save recitation. 'Behold they say, a different sun rises and then moon sets, seasons trading place with one another and if my world yet turns round I feel no stranger thing-'_

_I half thought to throw myself off one of the greater balconies, to end this madness and his plot with me--and for all I truly should have but could not. A coward to the end I am._

_A shame to the name Frye._

~

 

Her face was pale from her father's visit, nostrils gently flaring with crippled breathes as her corset kept her breath unmeasured and her anger towards herself and her own weakness kept her tense and short. Struggles to keep all such from showing but failing. As she was caught out of her turbulent thoughts when a gentle touch against her elbow startled her. She abruptly became rigid, feeling threatened here for no reason at all, so she didn't look up being there were too many eyes watching them but instead only shifted her weight from the offending touch. A gesture of understanding.

The voice belonging to the touch chuckled quietly, and his thick foreign accent rolled with a dark humor, through a grin he shamed her. "Now child, I should think that you had learned to contain yourself better. Your beautiful continence is as pale as chiseled granite. A poor mask to wear amongst wolves."

Then he was the Grand Master of Japan, that she could discern from his accent even as he shone a brilliant red shade in her second sight. Oh how her breath clenched in sufficating anger, watching the entire line of them ring of such brilliant, triumphant blood red flickering around her single gold form. Her teeth grit inside her cheeks, feeling for the first time in a long while, how alone she was amidst what this Templar had proclaimed them, a ruling head of wolves indeed--writhing snakes and she in the nest itself.

But she keeps drifting through the silloettes of those former to her and the shadow of her former life. How so great of a chance this might have been in her were she still an Assassin, and how she would have done anything to be given this chance to be so close, in the intimate connections of the entire higher ranking authority of the Templar order. What an honor it might have been...

  
The Templar had been watching her in her contemplations, and that he seemed to take a sort of humor in her predicament. Same as a cat may watch an injured mouse, or a similiar sick thing. Even now he was staring at her, with no regard to the service at hand. Small minded then or arrogant, she would discover. Covering her surprise with a sigh of irritation, she defended herself.

"You mistaken my intention, Grand Master. Your perception is what you wish me to reflect for yourself, not what you truly perceive."

A chuckle falls from his wiry lips, his singular brow raised in good humor.

"Is that so, child? Or perhaps you were not taught the arts of deception, how to think for the man and not to let him think for you? Your masters must not have been what those of my country are."

She holds her head high, irked by his flippant remark. "They are not. Discipline is a choice for each individual to practice. Not a thing enforced as a whole."

The Grand Master is humored, sniffing down his nose as if entertained. "Hmm. If only I had such leniency in my realm, perhaps I may have become Grand Master with less effort and bloodshed."

With such a haughty opinion of himself, she dislikes him already. His barb spurning her to a sarcastic rebuttal delivered through cold pressed lips that mock in a guised sneer.

"Oh! Well if what you say is so, then I beg what it is that you should fear then? Surely nothing."

In a delayed answer his voice takes an almost disinterested tone, not upset but sounding interested in another view or thought. Instead of curbing her prodding or biting back with another observation, he answered rather honestly.

"There is nothing to fear here. Even if you were not yet tamed, there would be nothing. Master Starrick is one to fear all manner of shadows. I do not. I find his concerns to be little things-"

She heard his head turn more towards her while he spoke, while she had kept her eyes facing a point of decor to distract her wandering mind and focus her singular thoughts. But a smile pulls at his next words, that she becomes aware of his attention and eyes upon her. Their ill attention causing her sensitive skin to pink brightly where ever they roved, his tone almost snide in their sudden glee.

"But you are his most curious, little one..."

His curiosity then fall shamelessly to her body and swept itself around her now blushing collar bone, dancing with lust across her deep upper chest. With as much as his height could manage, he took in her gently exposed skin and with his obvious imagination, looking beyond and beneath her ruffled lace neckline and then chuckling softly to himself.

A heated blush suffused her cheeks and she pulled her shoulders unconsciously straighter in distaste. Any former time before, such looks had been have been rewarded with a devilish grin and her fist--except that would not be allowed. Since her new life required wit and and a sharp mind to strike with words and double tongued deals instead of open violence, she had to contain herself. But so clouded with the vision blazed in red at how she had to unlearn everything she had known in order to make any ground here or standing point at _anything_ was sufficatingly impossible! Or so it most painfully seemed...

With her sharp mind used to adaption, she had to excercise her just vengence with subtlety again, as if one of her initiate lessons so long ago. That even though she wished to taste blood with all her might, she had gotten this far enduring.. So why in all hell would she give in now? So grinding her teeth with just hate, she did not shrink away. And as upset as she felt she was not going to quail nor fear. These Templars would respect her and in time fear her.

As they did not yet--given how this Master had so shamelessly scorned her(tempted her anger rather)--they would all press her to retaliate against them, or perhaps this was all to test her. Reflecting a moment, Evie believed that all they saw in her was she as Starrick's pet. Why should she expect them to treat her as anything else?

She would show them otherwise. And very much her very own woman, Evie drew a fearless breath that momentarily swelled her blushing bosom in a challenge and retaliated boldly. "Are you quite done?" Meeting his eyes full on amidst the bulbs flashing and in spite of the grand audience before them, her eyes flash with a the crystal vibrancy of twin ice shards.

He gently tsks, his voice soft as he regretfully raised his gaze to meet hers. "You are too eager for something to fight, little one. You should allow yourself this time to enjoy such a thing as admiration-"

But she interrupts him before he can finish. "-I will always fight what is misplaced. As in your eager attention to me. So unless you wish me to openly display how I disagree with your _appreciation_ , you will not openly _admire_ me again."

  
He is not intimidated, almost remorsefully debating with her. "But you are intended, young one, and may I add you look well beside him. He is wise and a strong leader, with dedication and no small amount of fortune now. And as he is in need of-" His momentary pause before she interrupts him again speaks for itself; alluding the most obvious reason that a man would have need for the company of a young and beautiful woman. 

Her whisper is sharp and harsh to cut him off. "-An advisor and counselor and nothing more. If it is an evening's pleasure that he wishes then he may look elsewhere. London is full of such sorts of noble ladies, willing to cast themselves into the first bed of the man that asks them and so he may inquire under their skirts. Not mine."

He is silent a moment.. "Why?"

  
Evie draws taller. "Because I belong to no one, and to any that say I do it is only to feed their own delusion. Starrick himself is less a man for believing in such a thing as if I were his possession." She met the Grand Master's eyes full, despite the audience before them. "And I would sooner throw myself from the rooftop to the brick lay below then to consent to such a privation."

Her words were strong and her conviction resolute, the image of Starrick holding her in his arms as his own fortifying her resolve. She could imagine his eyes glinting madly, gloating over her in pleasure as if his ultimate prize. She is suddenly filled with sick revulsion to imagine the dark and his wieght atop of her, hearing him as he relishes in his conquest of an Assassin and in rabid vengence, commiting unholy abominations within her as she embodies his pleasures..

  
He only smiles at her petty threat, easily seeing how she has too little resolve to actually do such a thing. "Then you are afraid of yourself in that this is the very future you see."

"You have no _business_ to myself-"

He laughes, cutting her off. "As you are now apart of our ranks, it is. And since I am to be in this great city for the whole month, I have better reason to look forward to my time here." A smirk twitches across his lips and his eyes spark with an interest in watching either a scandal unfold or her prove herself wrong. As if he perhaps knew something of Starrick's will that she herself did not.

Thus her retaliation was not swift enough; the cardinal finally steps away from Starrick, giving way to the new Grand Lord of all England, who with great pride strode forth to the center stair and four royal guardsmen ascended the steps, then in ceremony they draped a vibrant violet shoulder cape over his shoulders, fastening the gold chain latch with an echoing click that sounded the finality of his rulership.

 

Taking the three sounding steps to come to the polished mahogany podium, Grand Lord Starrick raised an arm, holding any unwarranted celebration in suspense. He wished a few words.

 

"My people." the brilliant flash of another moment frozen in time pauses the moment dramatically. Starrick waits. Then speaks.

"My great people of London. My great people of the world, a new era is upon us. A new age of enlightenment and power, of order and safety. No longer are we slaves to ignorance, nor need we face the future in fear. For what we have obtained--what we have achieved-- through our combined efforts together is the very thing impenetrable to our enemies of peace."

He overlooks the grand assembly, capturing their senses with his answer. "Knowledge."

There is a collective nod amongst the thousands of heads. He continues.

"Long have we been afraid of the unknown, the shadow in our closets. The stalker in the night. The knife held to our backs, to our throats. The murderer of our security, my dear people is our enemy. This fear--it bred and it grew stronger knowing we knew nothing but our fear of it. That was before it was brought to light, and by your own hands we showed it power indeed. And now?

"Now that it has finally reared its ugly head and exposed itself to us in its attempt to overthrow our struggling society by the death of our queen, it believed this was its path to victory. To enslave us again by its shadow, its horror it so believeing itself stronger than it was. And in its recklessness it showed us we have nothing to fear. This hood and blade--these Assassins--will each and every one pay for what they have done!"

The crowd applauded in a rage of support, Starrick raised his mighty voice to crescendo the pitch of applause.

He looked through the crowd, a few eyes he saw fixed behind him to the last shadow behind him. Miss Frye no doubt, as she was the only female to stand amidst her male counterparts, she would indeed draw more then a few eyes; golden as the setting sun. He could imagine her hatred for his words warming a fever in her skin again, and so warming him further. He basked in the approval of the people massing behind his words.

"I give you my word, that this act of defiance and final attempt to increase our fear of the unknown has only made them weaker. And so ever increasing our resolve to eliminate All Of The Unknown for the sake of the safety and the prosperity of the people, of their future--your futures--and in so may protect the very future of this earth!"

(Applause rages and then calms again.)

"London--My dear people--will be the first to see this light, for it Is the City of Light, as it shall ever be. And no walking fear, no matter how secret its cult, shall see this undone. Should my dying breath see this promise's end, it shall end with the security of All.

"For all begins today, and it shall ever be."

The crowd was roaring like a storm as newsman's light bulbs flashed like lighting strikes upon a thunderous night. Starrick extended both gloved hands outward, taking control of the waves of his people and lowered them in increments till they had quieted to a subtle rumble.

"By grace, may I fulfill all in truth and understanding. Purity and righteousness. With order and peace unending."

The people held their breath once more.

"May the Father of Understanding guide us."

He then raises his crystal gloves to the chandeliers, the depth and sheer volume of applause resounding over him like the mighty clap of ten thousand waves embracing him. He commanded them with those hands, with all his might and his power they gave him all tenfold. 

Evie even feels herself stir with the commanding might of his power. She was not swayed as the people were but she could not deny that that was the most condemning and compelling speech she had ever heard. With such inspiration who was to stop him now? He would not let this power ever go, he would never make that mistake, and surely he was in possession of the Shroud at all times... Her imagination even pictured him taking it to sleep while it lay about him. A god's protection for himself against an assassination attempt in the night. Or any form of assault for that matter. As if there were a man or woman alive who had a chance for that now.

"Smile child." The Grand Master chides her, again breaking her from her thoughts. "Do not let your pretty face scowl so. Is today not a day to celebrate?" He is mocking her, his smile broad.

Evie's neck prickled, her spine rigid as porcelain pillar as her image is captured in the flashing light of history forever.  
'In this moment I am no longer who I was but what all will see me for now. I have no friends, only enemies. If no one knows that I did this for good, if they believe I was a coward or a turn coat then so be it. I am right in this.'  
And her lips pull tight in the face of this moment. Her eyes though, give way to a smile. A smile she reserved for those she truly dispised, as sickeningly sweet and as beautiful as a coiled snake.

She answers him coldly. "Indeed, Grand Master it is."

Indeed it is.

 

~

 

_The Templars, all arranged on either side of the new Lord of England, were still as statues amidst the thundering acceptance of one of their own onto such power. And their line resolute and as decided as our joined fates._

_Surely brother, you would despise me now. For all I was doing and was set on continuing to do, it was everything I had ever preached for you to not be._

_But after such a vision that hardly mattered to me now. As horrified as I should be, as horrified as I could be but I was not. I was empty, unsteady in the presence of the foremost Grand Masters of the eight major continents, each flanked by a pair of each of their respective lesser associates and in another life this should have enraged me but tonight it causes me too little worry that I am disgusted with myself. How after all these months in templar power, I found myself wondering was the world any less well off with them or with a non dynominational rule? Despairing. For to me nothing had much changed except myself and my own private world as I was standing, surrounded by these strangers. I knew a few of them by name but to what consequence?_

_I remember the official pictures were then to be taken and ambassadors stood along the sidelines and newsmen speaking to them of the event and their own countries states. While Starrick approached the Grand Masters and shook firm hands with each of them, they congradulated him silently. And then all stood still for the flash bulbs of the newsman's photographers._

_After that he came to stand before them assembled thanking them once again before he came to me and taking my hand he led me to the first Grand master in row._

_"Miss Frye-" he had said but I finished for him._

_"Sir Charles Roberts."_

_Roberts openly grinning in amusment, my bold readiness uncalled for but it made my point. He bowed. "And to you, Miss." He glanced once at Starrick to gauge his reception of my daring. As Sir Robers took it in good humor, the others contained their mixture of either the same and/or displeasure._

_No surprise taints Starrick features when he rebukes me. "And am I to expect you to introduce yourself to all the rest before you, Miss Eveline?" His tone is haughty and sharp, so high on his new station and power._  
_"No you needn't. I only wanted to save you the effort and the air in the room." my words were brave but in truth I was unsure as to how he would take my continued scorn this evening. I decided to close my mouth and keep my useless words to myself._

_To this he merely pressing himself close to me in a manner to admonish me and at the same time move me onward to the next man._

_"Master Kareem Al Assal." Of Dark skin and darker hair, he had come alone. I was painfull reminded of Henry that it visibly pained me. He was unlike him though in that he was at least forty years old, aging well for it. His country was Egypt and by observation was as lethal as any Assassin in the way he stared at me darkly, carefully studying my features and expression with dark eyes that were studious and wise. Percieving me as the enemy to him that I was. He gifted me with no words, I concluded he was here by duty only, and so having no interest in English affairs or Assassin pets as he remained silent. His head he inclined was his only expression._

_Next I met "Master Wilhem Schreiner." He was a thickset sort, who looked rather like a dull bankman but with sharp glimmering eyes that were piercing with a contemplative intelligence, lurking deep beneath his thick grey/blonde lashes. "Fräulein." His German accent addressed her politely, stiffly bowing in respect for Starrick's presiding authority in her behalf. He impressed her with curiously._

_Then was "Masters Jean-Gabriel Bernart Gaultier, and Hugues De Jaufres Lievermont." Of France, obviously. Both were her height and dark haired, looking at her as if she smelt of wet dog. Their faces clean and their presentation brief, they taciturnly acknowledged the introduction but were otherwise most obviously disinterested as well._

_"Master Alejandro de Rosas Montolio and senor Jordi Miralles Valle." was a Master and a his young second-in-command. Dashing in the Spanish colors and exuding an an easy charm to their presence and presentation, they both were shadows of the other. The young Valle taking the apprenticeship seriously enough that he seemed to share the same mind as his Master. Both bowed shortly, the apprentice even extending a hand to me in greeting. I hesitated still reluctant to give my acceptance of all this but he was patient. And in the end he gently shook my hand, and released me promptly. I was out of all sense and sorts by then, realizing how tight this corset was and how I could not catch my breath again..._

_After, there was the Russian Grand Master "Grigorievich Rostislav." He stood broad and strong set, with greying hair and a serious mouth. And his own second-in-command "Mister Nikonov Tsiolkovski" was strong boned as well, neither were smiling but Tsiolkovski had bright eyes that glimmered in wonder of the palace. They were comfortable and pleasant; contrary to the little I had heard of their country and people. Also they were both gentlemen, not at all barbaric as all English folk believed of them these days. Master Rostislav shook my hand strongly and his apprentice did likewise, both wishing health to myself and my own._

_And lastly I came before the Japanese Grand "Master Koizumi Tsuneo" and his female second-in-command "Yamada Aiko" whom I had not seen from where she had stood before. He smiled again to me again, echoingthe patronizing emotions of our last engagement. I was reminded of the late Lucy Thorne, hardly containing my dislike for these proceedings as his secong in command glanced upon me with dead eyes, fully convinced of her superiority to myself and the most unimpressed. "Greetings to you." Was all she said, beaming in pride aside her master._

_After that Starrick merely released my arm and turned to Masters for a last word and I swiflty departed from their comany, and was swallowed up into the teeming, babbling crowd._

 

~

 

The babbling noise of the chaotic gathering gave way to celebration and drinking, the music struck up was gay and jolly. Coupled with the good company and the many refreshments, all celebrated with glee and the clamour and hours passing easily on.

Evie had wandered amongst everyone for the longest while, doing all just to stay away from the main eventing of the evening, brooding in her thoughts and the content of this day.

_"This is your last night to behave as you wish, before this new era begins and you move on from your former ways of want and indecision. You will at last be free..."_

Be free? Free from what? From worry? From want? From anger? From regret? What could he possibly be speaking about in his dark twisted mind, all these things were already a part of her now and there was not a thing that she could think of.

From conscience? She had given that up as soon as she consented to stop fighting him. Her conscience had told her that his lies were truth, that her life was false and that she was doing right by this--by standing at his side in this moment; how it was better to be at his side for the chance to help... but how was any of that true? How could any of that be good or right?

The cool night air chills her skin, puckering the pores and sharpening her senses as she stands alone near the grand doors. Watching the carriages taking older couples of patrons back to their residences and their rooms, just as a gentle thundering of a storm passing over the city. Bringing her a fresh breath of cool night air before the doorman begin to close the doors against the soft patter of rain falling.

This day had lasted too long already, and reminds her that she had not taken anything that day. her stomach was in nervous knots earlier and now reminds her that she at least ought to drink a little. The silver lined table tempts her throat with the wines, punch and simple lemonades and so she downs two glasses before a gentle Indian accent addressed her-

"Miss... _Frye?"_

Evie freezes, horrified surprise painted on her face. Henry?? She first thinks wildly and turns abruptly but it was his majesty Duleep Singh; Regally dressed in the tradition of his people, he seemed as much surprised if not more relieved then she was. Albeit his countenance was better kept then hers.

"Your Majesty-" She stammered, bowing out of old habit rather then curtsie as was proper. "I had thought you had been amongst the number to fall to Starrick's sick scheme. Dead or replaced by some puppet man..." She was overjoyed to finally see a friend.

"I had thought the same fate of you." He approached her as if not quite believing it was really her. "Miss Frye-" He said again, as if her very name were a balm or comfort. "I had prayed it was not so, believing you dead but I see it is even worse. A prisoner, even as I am." He sighed with remorse. "I had hoped if you were alive that you would have fled this city."

Evie took his hands in hers, meeting his eyes with determination. "I'm afraid we were unlucky. But that does not necessarily mean that we are helpless."

He nods and his features relax, dark eyes reflecting the hope she now shares. "You are absolutly right. I hope during this time that you have been treated well?"

The ambience of the room increases as the latest dance ended and the patrons begin to trickle in and out from the doorway, all seeking a quick refreshment.

Evie pulls him to the side where it is quieter and a little easier to converse, nodding as she answered. "I have been treated well enough. Yourself? Where have they been keeping you?"

"I have been taken care of, left alone for the most part. My residence however I should not say, as I do not know what may possibly be unwell for our now reunited welfare."

She understood his difficult position but pressed. "Our positions are in contest with our duties, we will do the best we can. But your Majesty-if you could tell me perhaps if you've heard any word of survival or tragedy.."

"Miss Frye, you should not-"

"Your Majesty, I am asking of my brother or-"

Duleep Singh lifted a gentle hand, as if merely a wave. But the gesture was sharp enough to halt her tongue instantly. The crowd murmers in conversation but quieting enough to her their own conversation as the head man called for the next dance.

He asks pointedly instead. "Miss Frye, do you still treasure the sight and refreshment of a freshly cut bouquet?"

Evie was first put off. But with her nimble mind she warily caught onto his caution. "Yes. Your Majesty..."

"Good. Would you accept a vase of my favorite blooms? Perhaps tomorrow evening?" He offered easily.

"Of course." She searched his face for anything but it was a mask of calm resolution.

"Thank you, Miss Frye."

She easily favored him with a gracious smile and bowed again. "You are always most welcome, your Majesty. Some time, that is if it is even allowed, I should treasure time to share tea with you."

That brought a smile to his lips but his eyes were still guarded. Though it was small but it was still a smile and that fortified her courage. "That, Miss Frye, I would enjoy more then anything in this world at this present moment."

She grinned and grasped his hands tenderly, a solid anchor and guide for her now.

But Duleep himself had to cut their conversation short. "It would be unwise to spend too long in each other's company. Know that to see you here--even how terrible it is--warms my heart, to have here at least one friend."

It was too short but it was necessary. Evie bowed a third and final time, and wishing him well. "I understand and feel the same. Goodbye your Majesty."

Duleep dips his head and with the very air of royalty he departs.

  
And not a moment too soon, for hardly was he out of sight when Master Roberts entered. His eyes fell upon her and he confidently approached, oblivious to what had just transpired.

"I hope you have refreshed yourself, Miss Frye." He gait is strong but cautious, closing the distance between them with short careful steps. "I was told that you are required in the main hall, though the words used were 'In need of fetching'..." His amusement with his words stung her pride, even though he meant it in good humor.

"Fetch is not a word you aught to use on the Lord's formal advisor and council woman." Her eyes narrowing to emphasize how she detested that word.

"Such thoughtless barbs should not ire you, Miss Frye. Greater praises and worse mannerisms you will learn to shoulder with a dash of salt and a light heart--that is if you intend to last long as the Lord's first counsel woman." He extends his arm for her to take. "Such is the way of politics, I am afraid."

Too true, his words were wise and patient. His eyes were honest and kind but had a iron edge inside them that he instantly inspired her respect, and this in a man who she should, by association, instinctualy hate.

"If words were used with greater thought before being spoken-" she began, but in the next stalling second she recalled how Starrick had reprimending her for the same. In her brief silence Lee merely shrugged.  
"I believe many things would be resolved if that were so, Miss. Perhaps, even the discrepencies between our own entities." By this he meant the eternal war between Assassin and Templar.

Evie shook her head. "They are no longer mine to call." Her voice sounds weak to admit this.

"I know." He admits, knowing. Starrick must have told them all of her greatest shame, and she bristles to realize how he would have twisted the truth of her. "Then why do you address me as if I were yet one of them?" She begins to imagine why the other Masters had now looked so scornfully upon her, and was quick to assume that Master Robers believed the same..but instead she sees compassion in his eyes, not even dislike or pity as he answers her in truth.

"Because I see in you pain and hate in abandoning your brothers but you are still holding on to the ghosts of your allegience in a place where such is no longer needed. A poor state it is here at the moment but with the circumstances allowed you, I think you would be allowed to think out of all you had known. Besides, if what I have heard of the Brotherhood is true, then outside this palace I believe you would fall to a hidden blade within the first hour. Regardless of who you might have been.." She makes no answer and so he shrugs a little. "What if you came to realize the sensible differences to everything you had thought you had known?" He glances back, aware of her summons but is kindly patient.

As the dance song strikes up out in the hall, muted into soft whispers, Evie ponders the man. His words could be poison honey as Starrick's had been, as he was calling on her to reason differently and yet the same. He was calling her to continue questioning everything but in a way making it sound easy, the right thing to do. If not natural..

_"Nothing is true. Everything is permitted."_

Did that mean even questioning the Brotherhood itself?

Too much! Far too much in one day--she seperated herself from thought and declined to think on it further. Though kind as he was, she could not consider him any less devious then those she had met before and so she did not believe in his good will. At least...not _yet._

She did not answer his statement, leaving it open and unchallenged for another date. She merely nodded for him to lead her on, stating in explanation. "I should not keep you waiting, sir."

With a nod of his own and without argument he did, he offered his arm again and she took it. Without another word he walked her away, letting her reflect on everything this day, as there was much for her to come to terms with before it's end.

  
~

  
_So often I was a hen in a fox yard. So many lusting eyes, glittering with questions about the Assassins and their secrets. While I was so torn that I could no longer claim to be one of them, I had no interest in used to devulge them as I could not bear the thought of being branded traitor... Another Assassin turned Templar. Sadly in many ways, and even beginning in me, this was already so._

~

 

Lee escorted her to the Great Hall's spacious floor, as the last dance of the evening was about to begin. The Grand Lord of England stood within the center proudly, patiently waiting for her as he required his lady to share it.

"You make a grand sight this evening, Miss Frye." Starrick whispered to her, taking her bare pale fingers into his crisp gloves. They came to position with his strong arm folding around her backbone, not caring to meet her eye but breathing his words upon her brow. She did not answer him but straightened her gown's skirt before settling her hand upon his broad shoulder, waiting for the music to start.

A handsome couple they made just as the music strikes up a waltz of the evening, the dance itself setting their weary feet to pace. He elegantly stepped them along in silence to the melody for the first few moments, watching her eyes as she took in the crowd around them, her attention as far from him and his proximity as it could get.

He lead her in a graceful turn, his hand firmly guiding them both and dancing her backwards. "I hope you have had a chance to enjoy this ball, Eveline. In the light of the last you attended being somthing not easy to appreciate for either of us. Being we were preoccupied with the greater matters at hand..."

The music skips softly to the beat of shoes and ladies slippers, their bodies flowing together with a reluctance to admit such a thing to each other.

The last, indeed, she remembers it well. Her voice is curt, commenting. "The last I attended was not an occasion of enjoyment or anything enjoyable. This one is no different." She avoids his eyes, going through the motions; willing this evening to be done. She was striving to contain her personal feelings, however and so her impatience was not visiable in her movements.

"I see.." As indifferent as she cast herself, he was reflecting on the contrast of both nights. How they were so set apart and yet so similiar. He is curious of her side of perception, reflecting in question. "So in your mind has nothing changed since then?"

She tried his patience in answering and with time to spend in contemplation of past and thought, he was also able to appreciate what a well matched dance partner she was. Lithe and strong yet supple against him--being that he hadn't exactly had the opportunity to enjoy their first dance properly--these circumstances was a far more superior chance to observe her underlined graces. And further showcase more then either of their individual characters alongside their concentration and mutual cooperation. This evening was becoming far more then he had hoped for.

Just then Evie meets his eyes boldly, ignoring his question. "I ask again, what is it you want of me, Starrick? For I am at a loss to understand your point or purpose for me being here." Her tone is emotionless but her question is direct.

  
The leading violin skips softly as its sisters trilling elegantly behind in romantic melody. The dance floor is covered in twirling gowns and suit tails, painting a jubilant scene around the Lord and his chosen lady.

The beat skips again and he whirls her around again. "Truly?" As she spins on light toes, following his guidance. "Speak plainly."

"I do." He pulls her close with a firm arm around her cinched waist. "It is you who twists my words, dear Eveline."

Evie scoffs, resisting the urge to roll her eyes heavenward. "Then I presume you keep me for no other reason then amusement, at least this is as well as I can guess." Her words are pointed, her eyes cutting into him angrily. "Am I a trophy? What else could it be? Unless there some sinister idea stuck in your head that causes you to parade me about in some illusionary fantasy of yours. That said, I find no reasoning in it. You are too sophisticated of a man."

He dances her backwards lightly. "So you have a theory as to my purpose?"

"Yes." Her answer grinds out, frustration growing inside her again. "As I've just expressed."

"If you were in my position, Eveline why would you hold one, a person, such as yourself?"

Her eyes narrow in annoyance. "I will not play guessing games with you."

He spins her around once more. "And why is that? You know that you cannot help your curiosity."

She halts abruptly in place, tugging them both to a still, pushing close she fiercely whispers. "You make play of my worry." Her accent growing thicker the more upset she became. "You sicken me with your sneers and your secrets. I am not a puppet, Crawford. I am not a like the other women you've flattered and bartered or played with, no matter how you toy with me!" Her hands jerk from his and they stand apart, posed like actors in some dramatic play; a play in this life that could have--in it's elaborate scheme and plotting--pleased the ghost of the former Mr. Roth, who any could imagine, might have enjoyed writing or orchestrated once upon a time.

Starrick allowed a frosted silence to fall between them, both of them still amidst the swirling sea of silk around them. He feels nothing hostile or assaulting with the snappish bite of her words; but fear and guilt. He might even venture that he was more interested in what might become of this argument, for all her bullish behavior and her stubborn resistance.. as he was waiting for her to realize that she was at this moment forming her public figure.

With a few heads turning towards them amidst the twirling couples, Starrick asks quietly enough that only she could hear it. "Is this how you wish your people to see you?"

"They will see me as they always have." Was her cool reply, shoulders straight and confident.

"No." He states even quieter. "They will not."

She rolls her face away from him, disbelieving--his assumptions rediculous--even as he answers himself smoothly. "They will not because your people remember the Assassin you were. And as Assassin is what took their beloved queen and everything from them-"

She rounds on him. "That is a lie-and you know it. Admit it!"

"No." He counters her. "You must see it is their truth, Eveline. They only know this and in that if you remind them of who you were, they will round upon you and cry for the noose for all that they have been made to suffer. Do you not see, that if you attempt to remain what you know you are no longer--that they will cry for your head?"

He steps toward her at last and dares to speak it. "You are no longer an Assassin. You..are not."

She quakes before him, pale with hate and agony. The truth burns her at last and it is a long moment before she has the strength to whisper. "Why do you do this to me?"

He steps another foot closer to her, even as she is shaking her head to dissuade him. Her pupils are dialated so sharply boring into him, beside herself with helpless rage. "What have I done to you that you feel this absolute degradation is right and necessary?"

He does not answer, choosing as she had to allow the lack of words to allow the asker to come to her own conclusion. she does not fight him as he takes her carefully into his arms again. She does not object to his soft touch, treating her sullen form as though made of glass. She turns coldly from his face, seeking any other contemplation then his self righteous silence, even as he leads her steps once more. On they danced until the waltz ends but when he does not leave the floor and she feels him hold her firmly, the head man calls for an encore and so the last piece begins again, after partners had changed for others. And upon request the tune is slow in tone to accommodate those who have drank themselves through the night and for quieter conversation amongst the couples remaining.

  
A full four measures pass into the soft stepping of their dance, where Starrick allows her to recoperate her temper in wordless company. He relishes the smell of her decorated hair and the soft pink of her skin, leading her from step to step and on until it felt to him as though they were finally moving together again. Thoughtlessly and with each other in mutual union. He could feel she had let fall her bitter barrier, in that her head was low and she had let herself lean into his arms; a form begging for no argument, a giving posture to placate him. She was exhausted in spirit and was only making the motions now, no longer resisting with her bodily strength as before.

Halfway through the piece he softly chides her. "Say something, Eveline." He soothing but tempting, wanting to test if she had any venom left.

And she sighed, clearing her throat of her heavy emotion from earlier. Her sharp exhale is an attempt to recover fully enough to trust her voice. Her conversation choice is a flattering barb. "Your speech was quite stirring--to your ignorant assembled."

She does not see the momentary grin that passes like a dark shadow across his face. His features quickly melt into a passive indifference as he replys nonchalantly. "My words are meant to stir faint hearts, and embolden courageous ones, Miss Frye. That you found it stirring is flattering."

She makes no response, so he observes casually. "...You look tired."

She huffs a thin breath, emboldening herself to carry thorough or during difficulty. "Think nothing of my welfare, it's no concern of yours."

He stares deeply into her pale eyes, his voice warm as he declared emphatically. "Eveline. Everything concerning you is a concern for me-"

"-As if I am worth a single trouble of yours. Please, leave the pitiful corpse of your false concern in it's grave undisturbed, my Lord..." Her spiteful words bite with venom, and she callously dissmisses him with bitter sarcasm.

He is not perturbed, and carelessly allows her to think so. "Very well. Perhaps it is not concern then."

"At last! Truth." She falsely exclaims, eyes wide and incredulous with mockery.

Starrick ignores her theatrics. "Yes, at last. But as you will not accept my considerations then you will share your poor worries so that they do not fester inside you like a poor tempered disease."

"My concerns do not matter to you-" She amends her rebuff but he cuts in.

"-But I will have them still. No longer is there a time for secrets or hidden thoughts between us. You forsook that right in your acceptance of your new duties, so you will devulge your concerns so that I may amend them immediately."

She laughs, in disbelief before her laugh cuts into a snarl. "You mistaken my silence, Grand Lord Starrick. I am only eager for this unnecessary exhibition to be done with so that I may begin my true work and that does not intail that I crawl and complain."

As mocking as she meant it to sound, it did not strike him as such. She sounded more or less on the verge of shedding tears, her lips taut in a sneer. Such forceful defense from her that he disarmed her hate; sparing her a small smile in the light if her attempt of her former fire; as she tried forcing it's return to re-enliven her veins.

"Unnecessary exhibition?" He uttered sardonically. Rebuking her as if she were a disrespectful child.

She held her tongue tightly and so he eagerly expounded upon her ignorance. "This work is more accomplishing then that which I will conduct for the next year-as the world has allowed such an unprecedented exchange of power was allowed to take place, without only a dozen inquiries into into the legitimacy of the "assassination". No one has displaced me and no one will, and all now are dancing in stupid acceptance of all that I shall accomplish."

His foresight and execution of such a masterly plan were inarguable facts. And yes she stood in the idiocy of the people's blind center, none looking nor caring to resist. And all this after what she had done to try to encourage and inform and protect them. It was true, as he had always said... They were happy or at least content, why should they care further? If so, then what was there left for her to argue if they would not want the oppression removed. No. There was nothing left.

Starrick finishes his revelation. "This night is the living breathing proof of all that The Order stands for. That humanity must be guided as with the flock and the shepard, to willingly bow to the yoke of my direction and power." Her eyes are still averted, and he can feel her tense beneath his hands, in weak denial--but a denial still.

The tone of his voice--such a smooth compelling baratone--softened into the soothing of a tenor. "And if this is that your former tendencies and questions are coming to light after so long kept in the deep of you, please..my dear Eveline-" He pulls them together and his arms tighten behind her back and waist, pressing them very close together but not too visibly, whispering. "Please. Let me enlighten you further."

She does not balk but is angered almost beyond words. "You are presumptuous to a fault, it is disgusting."

"How am I presumptuous?" His every word is measured even as her's are becoming defensive and heated. Caught in hatred of his wicked web of words.

"You flaunt yourself as if infallable, you arrogant bastard! Do you expect a outfront assault on your stolen power? That just because tonight was not the night you were struck from you bloody throne does not mean that you have escaped the fate you tempt for yourself!" Interjecting enough stress into the last words to be considered wise warning.

He whirls her delicately, spinning her again into his arms and stepping backwards lightly on careful toes. Unflustered, his sharp brow raises in what would seem harmless questions.

"Am I? All these things? I see no reason nor ability for a blade to tread upon my city's streets and shadows, my palace or my hallways. There is no longer the opportunity." He believes this but desires confirmation from her own knowledge and point of view. Baiting her to confirm or reveal otherwise. "Or is there?"

His arrogance knows no bounds! Hatred erupts hotly inside her, consuming her and in that moment she cannot stand the very sight of him and his immortalizing over self confidence.Very well, she decides to mock him with scorn. "Perhaps not then. For why would one in possession of such a power worry and hide from mere shadows? As a man of your station need not worry over such trivial things as Assassins.. Those whom you so openly declare have no power here."

She does not see the way the dark corner of his mouth twitches, nor the hungry gleam in his eyes that grows with every sharp strike of her tongue; and how the word Assassin had finally broke past her lips.

But he doesn't gloat for she would withdraw to herself again. And he needed her needy, begging; flushed into the open with no where to hide. A mask contours over his face to hide this design, and he counters instead. "And how did Caeser fall? Perhaps if history were not so eloquent with her warnings I could ignore them easier as you have."

She is heated and snaps a response before he had even finished. "-Yet Caeser Augustus did not have the Shroud. If he had, he would not cower behind it's power as you have. Who would? With such a treasure-"

" _Cower_ , Eveline? It is easy for one to overestimate one's strength and then to just as easily fall." Brow raised at her poor choice of judgment. "This would be a thing you would wish and even rejoice over. But you will understand that it is not on the subject of your jealousy or my power that I seek your wisdom." She tries to interject but he raises his voice. "-Once again you unjustly accuse me as you had when I first spared you. Does this mean you expected more from me with it? To rule the world with a barbarity, perhaps? Have I fallen short in your measure?"

"I rather find my opinion means so little to you, why should I even care to speak it? You wish a painted parlor doll to stand beside you, so why are you not satisfied with what you see?"

His answer is simple, and without hesitation. "Because I am not a man easily satisfied." He wished her to understand that meant in all things.

If she did then it was frozen behind stone features, and her voice was just as cold. "So I have come to understand." He was unsettling her with his renewed attention, and she attempted to withdraw from the heat of her arguement.

But Starrick's eyes were discontent to let her fire escape him. His head tilts and eyes so pale yet so dark they were almost beautiful, bore inside of her. "Oh, how you could grow, Eveline. If only you would allow yourself..."

Her answer is a sudden smile that holds no warmth, deflecting his poor and misplaced grooming with another direct subject. "So tomorrow then, my duties shall consist of what exactly?"

His answer is curt, eyes still ablaze. "There will be nothing concerning business tonight."

"Of what then?"

"So you will not wait for tomorrow?"

Her lips tighten in frustration. She did not want to wait for tomorrow, anxious as she was but to admit that...

Starrick allows her festering silence for a moment then decides on action. "Then I ask-" He spins them both across the floor then swoops himself close to her, his cheekbones angleing darkly as he looks around the room in the chandelier's candles. "That you understand, as my formal counseler and advisor, it is your duty to me as your Lord, to provide your advice on any subject or concern of which I should ask."

She is rightfully suspicious. "And what such advice could I give so soon?" Eyes a cloudy glare, but despite herself, glittering in curiosity.

He slows their dance enough to gaze intensely into her eyes, finally revealing his hand."What is it I am to expect from the Assassins?"

There is that second of void before she understood the true nature of his question. Once she realizes why and how he has cornered her into such a foolish checkmate as this, her cheeks flush with a rage, eyes gleaming with absolute shame and loathing. Making it worse was the creeping grin that begins overtaking his features-as his triumph; so poorly concealed that it shines through his eyes like a mad thing.

Evie's iron jaw clenches behind her flushed cheeks, pale with anger at how he had positioned her. Her lips find words difficult to form. "Do not ask that of me-"

But he will no longer give her quarter. "I am not." He responds. "I am _demanding_ it of you."

"It is not as if you would even believe my words-" Her excuses were weak then, thin whispers. Leaning away from him, to no avail.

"Then you would be weighing the weight of your satisfaction in thwarting me with the lives of your own brother. And his friend..? Or perhaps their lives do not mean as much to you as I had originally thought..."

She balked at the mere thought--the hope--and then the swelling fear and emotion of everything he was saying, missing a step in the dance, her breath short in her restricting 'costume'. Humiliation pinked her skin warmly while Starrick indifferently carried on, unmoved by her distress.

He easily bore her weight in the two steps it took for her to recover her footing, then commented with intentional cruelty. "Or perhaps you do not care for them as you used to-"

"Damn you-" She choked out, chest heaving under the strain.

"Yes, perhaps." He had her firmly captured, she only now realizing how she had sold herself to him. Those serpent's hands cinching around her sufficating waist. "But regardless Eveline, you will fulfill your duties to me." There is cold admonishment and demand in his voice, an undertone of a King enforcing his long due authority on those loyal to him.

She grasps at her fragile silence, hoping to escape through passive avoidance. But he is a wolf on the trail of hot blood, driving her on and on. He makes a show of raising his voice. "Or does this mean that your word, like a coward, means nothing when given?"

Evie colors with cornered rage, grinding her words through teeth of granite to match his tone. "Where are you keeping them? All these months I have only heard you use them to threaten me. I dare to not even believe them to be in your power..." But did she? She was bold enough to bluff.

His facade did not falter, even amused at her challenge. Chuckling in her face to show how little he cared for what others heard around them, he states simply. "Go on." Wanting to drive her to admit her doubts aloud. Best that to have them out in the open, where he could see, taste and touch them...

She demanded her question, afraid to truly hear the answer. "Are they dead?"

His reply is laden with a mocking quality. "Are they?"

"They must be."

"Then are they?"

She stiffened to a standstill, shouting. "Damn you, Starrick--answer me!"

But he dips her suddenly, and with a frightening violence his hands grip her with a frightening strike of inhuman strength. In so he relished the momentary flash of fear that spiked through her eyes in recognition of the painful drain from her veins and how a sickening rush of her life was drawn into his flesh. She knew what it was--the only divine power that came from T _he Shroud._

His amusement bleeds away as well as any tolerance, a dangerous shadow falling over his face.

"Miss Frye." He growls so softly. "Do you comprehend the inferiority of your power and position..?" She swallowed softly, her tense throat bobbing with difficulty from how low and dangerously he held her.

He continued, whispering with feral disregard. "I do not _need_ you. But you were spared because you have talents, intelligence and an ability to understand even the impossible, that it would be a shame and a waste to destroy. But in not _needing_ you, it must be at my personal expense to keep you, alive and cared for. You understand I am not wasteful and yet look at what I do. Since this is true, how can you justify the reason you are even alive? Is this testamony enough to how indebted you are and in so; how bare a line you tread with the rebellion of your _selfish_ actions?"

Evie has no words for him, only clinging to him in her ackward position and waiting for him to finish. When it was long enough that neighboring couples began to look at them, she met his eyes and nodded her understanding. Even then he waited a little longer until her neckline colored soft shades of red and pink with the slowly gathering attention.

Taking a quick short breath that caught his eyes for a single heartbeat, she finally whispered. "That I am alive is by your will and secret design." Correcting his words even then.

How he adored her resilience. "It is."

She whispered carefully. "Then what indeed is it that you are demanding of me?" This question causes a tremor to creep from the small of her back. The understanding of his intentions for her now did not bring her any comfort, indeed perhaps a parlor doll were a better fate then an informant...

Starrick corrects her seriously, his temper fusing into an obsidian will. "What I require of you--Is your cooperation. Your unemotional and clear minded dedication; that is before I lose what _little_ patience I have left..."

She huffed a difficult breath but remained silent then, still held backward in the crowd of dancing couples. It was a long moment longer before he pulled her slowly to rise again, resting her against himself. Their faces were now a breath away from each other, close enough he saw her take a second step to understanding her place in his world.

In this moment his eyes promised blood for blood, if she dared his vengence again then he would give it with the greatest violence. And she couldn't do that to them...

"And so I ask again." His voice is lowered, sharp viper lips drew past her cheek and breathed into her pearl studded ear. "What is it that I should expect from them? Tell me of who and what should I fear.." Catching her ear lobe with his moistened lips, his last words are murmered. "Guide my eyes.."

To her credit she swallowed any self-pity or misery she felt. She shouldered the burden of her choices, her cross, her new allegiance bravely. His words wove their seducing song of reality and undeniable truth within her but raising her chin firmly in challenge of his demand.

And it was with the fire and dignity she committed to everything she said and did, that she delivered her answer. "You will expect nothing from them immediately. If no one has struck before today then it is because they do not know or that someone is choosing to watch and wait for a better opportunity. So long as you do not stand to long in a window, or venture on your own without a guard at hand. Rotate your watch with a number of punctual men who are alert and not stupid or curious. If you are aware and give no place for anyone to hide, then you should be safe. _For now._ "

She really had little other choice and so she wisely submitted at last. Her voice was soft and monotonous; temperarly respectful but not at all weakened, she was willing and compliant. _Perfect_.

His words are simple, warm with genuine gratitude. "Thank you, Eveline."

Just as their final steps are completed and they come to a stand still with her in his careful arms. The applause sounds around them, concluding this evening and this is when he pulls her close. "If you have had enough of this party then I shall retire with you."

He well knew she had no say in when she could depart, but she only nods. Praying that the quicker her answer the sooner she would be excused from his hold. She follows him as he pulls her from the crowd of loyal subjects, speaking briefly with his second in command, to who he left to see to the last of the guests and their arrangements.

Exercising a care, something akin to reverence, he escorted her back to their living space of Buckingham palace; on and up to the fine staircase and vast halls above. There was no grand applause to follow them, no grand last exit. Only the silence of resolution to her irrevocable acceptance of his blatant crime; a sadistic scheme.

Their steps hit the carpet in a rhythm, synonymous with their duet of hearts, crossing the muffled floor while their shadows dancing in the aging candle lights. He held her to him with her softened hand cradled in his elbow, his other hand folded over to keep her captured beside him, until he pulled them to a stop outside the double doors of his grand office.

Evie was reluctant. "Will this take long?" Her voice was soft but firm and wary. 

"There will be no need for worry of the time, Eveline." He countered his voice softer still, like a lovers whisper.

He opened the door and without letting her debate, led her in.

 

~

 

_The room maintained a contemplative silence, there was only the swishing of silk and heavy cloth that disturbed the stillness in the air after he had let me into his room, following soon after. Where he led me to his fireplace and beckoned with a gentle hand that I sit upon the sofa. He retrieved us both a glass of wine and so standing before me between myself and the fireplace we both drank in silence._

_I do not recall how long we remained like this. I do not want to think that it was peaceful or comforting. Nothing calm or bearable but it was those things. It was hours would dare guess but then my senses tell me it was not that long. At any length I at last believed I should understand what pressed him to bring me here. Then just been about to speak, to discover what he held within his dark flickering eyes when he slowly finished his glass, and spoke in a voice so low it was almost kind.._

_"Eveline, do you remember when you had asked me what it was that I feared?"_

_"I do." I was wary in my answer, for the mood of this room was something different then what we had before shared._

_He contemplated the glinting edges of the crystal ware, his glass refracting the flame's light into a thousand little stars. I watched him savoring the moment to construct his thoughts as he might have been savoring the lingering taste of wine on his silver tongue._

_He turned the glass in his hand with deft fingers before answering me."I fear because to be without fear is to be without courage, is also to be without adversity. And is not adversity what inspires man to greatness?"_

_I nod in reluctant agreement. In wonder of where this conversation would lead us._

_"I understand you also fear, and that you are bitterly set against me for what I have done to this city, to those you love-" he briefly met my eyes. "And to you. But for all I have done it was necessary and justified."_

_"I would agree, were you any less of a man, Starrick."_

_With these words I felt his eyes come upon me but my eyes were fixed in the snapping fireplace. He remained silent, allowing me to construct my own thoughts, which I did with care._

_"These people, this city--they don't need to be smothered with your regulations and your statements of state." he listened to me, quietly standing there in consideration. "Your gangs must go, Starrick." She expected resistance but he nodded as if it were something he had thought about it as well. I continued. "The people would flourish without fear. You would not have to fear usurpation."_

_"I do not fear an uprising. Nothing so petty."_

_His words were slow and careful. His true intentions in this conversation I did not yet understand._

_"The people's will is nothing petty, you would be wise to consider them a formidable force. Especially considering how all I had to do upon my arrival was rally their dissatisfaction in order to overthrow you before." Why was I telling him all of this? This was wrong...As if we were reminiscing over something long past._

_"Ah, that I do remember..."_

_"Then you aught to loosen your rigid hold. You already chose for them once after you uprooted their Queen. They deserve the freedom to-"_

_"Eveline."_

_I fell quiet. He set his empty wine glass gently atop the mantle and whispered, turning to me. "Do you believe in discipline?"_

_Considering my upbringing, he must have only asked the question in order for me to admit something to his next statement. And being I guessed so I shouldn't have but I answered anyways. "I do." And being it wise, I kept my answer short._

_He chose his words with care. "Do you remember how as children, it was an easy and thoughtless thing to take advantage of all kindness and generosity that was doted upon you? How an elder's easy words and giving deeds, were wrought to spoil you?"_

_No, I could have answered but instead of raise a discussion inside another discussion, I chose to agree with him. In and of itself it was true, even if I was in want to disagree with it._

_He considered my silence a moment. "Now my dear Eveline, this city is exactly the same. There is little that these people will not take advantage of. They would feed each other to wolves if it promised them any gain. They are selfish, narrow minded children."_

_With this he took a step closer to me. And another till he stood before me close and I waited._

_"I understand it may even be of our best intentions, more often than not it is. But the cruel truth is that goodness breeds men that are selfish. Greedy children, and a clutch of wicked women." He looked almost sorrowful. "Whereas hardship and want create a society dedicated to caring carefully for his own welfare and fellow man."_

_I looked up at him and his mixed truth as he stood imposing over me. He was not threatening or aggressive in his way but his eyes were focused like a rifle sight._

_Quietly I answered. "As you see, Starrick."_

_What else was I to say? I had already learned that all my clever words and citations were more worthless then my point to draw another breath this night. He will remain inconvincable to the day he breaths his last, of that I was so very sure. So where I might have once disputed him with vitriol, this moment I did not._

_He must have seen it in my eyes, or maybe had come to some inner revelation. His face fell from its mask of lecturing teacher and instead he lowered himself down before me, where we looked into another's eyes at an even level._

_"Eveline."_

_I waited._

_"Do you hate me?" he asked, studious eyes affixed to the contours of my face but I felt nothing._

_"I don't know." I answered simply. I really didn't know._

_"What we want for London is the same."_

_"Our methods are what stand us apart."_

_"How can we remedy this?"_

_The answer was strange. "Either you will bend or I will break." And she meant it._

_"We should strive for a middle ground then."_

_"What are you preposing?" I was curious when I should have begged to retire._

_"An agreement." he offered._

_"I don't trust you."_

_"I am willing to earn that from you, Miss Frye."_

_Now I confess in this moment I was so tired of my own bitter hate for myself and for him that I wanted nothing more then death or for this all TO STOP. Otherwise that we might find some parley to come to a resolution. "And how do you plan to secure my trust, Starrick?"_

_But that was something he was willing to earn. He needed it, for me to play my part. I confess that what we became after were partners. We were a handsome match, so wisely said._

_This night was the missing step of my fall._

~

He settled himself on a knee before her, the soft sounds of their movements punctuating the quiet of this discussion of their secret treaty.

"I will answer a question or concern on any subject of your choosing." Wisely he kept his hands to himself even as her's rested in fists on her lap.

"Very _little_ you give in the light of what I've lost." Evie protested, tight lipped.

He nodded letting her argue. "It is. But it is an effort of mine to bend my will--" he reminds her of her former words. "To accommodate _ours_."

She needed answers, she always had. But this was a way for both to compromise themselves.

"What else are you going to ask of me in the future?" Was there even a point to questions anymore?

His eyes were powerful and consuming from this intimate distance apart. In a strange moment he seems to see through and into her. Within her something finally understands that this agreement between them was nothing temporary. And like everything he had changed in her, altering her--her mind, her body even--and like the rest, this was going to remain with her forever.

And so he nodded once, not in agreement but as in a promise. "Is this an agreement then, Miss Frye?"

Starrick offered her his hand, kneeling there before her. The struggle to accept him, her will against his, was plain in her face and taut features. He doesn't push and he doesn't threaten, he patiently waits for her stop fighting. To feel his beckoning presence to come to him again.

_By little steps._

She steels her will, and with a wooden pull she nods once, placing her cool hand in his but griping it tightly as a man's formal handshake might. Her skin prickles with their touch and her heart throbbs unsteadily beneath her skin; knowing she is now officially aligned with him.

His mouth curves but does not grin as she thought he would; he neither smirks nor does he gloat.

Instead he rises to his feet and with a pull, draws her upward as well to stand before the crackling fireplace. The flames snap and crackle, casting its flickering light over their solemn eyes and chiseled features. The silence is a blanket draped about them and they stare into one another's eyes for once without fear or hate. He is without judgment but aware of the sacrifice she has made.

Compassion swims beneath the glistening grey and he is indeed smiling but it is a thing that she swallows eagerly. Anything but the cold detraction that he had crippled her all these long months with. Facing each other as to common man in one idea is something entirely new, by her longing for goodness and her pride coupled with his patience and long design, they are now joined in one idea and one ideal.

Evie's spirit blooms with pain and purpose, shining through her eyes and he understands. They stand so close that their proximity is mesmerizing, their reconciliation a unifying agreement. He feels their new bond and can feel she has come to the same understanding. Her pale skin blushes from the warmth of this isolated atmosphere but as the loiness she is, she is not daunted. Her posture is strong and sure, having accepted her place beside him.

This Starrick sees with his eyes and feels through the expression of her body to his. Warmed by the wine and the granduer of this evening he is inspired. In so he moves a gentle hand from around her waist to cup her chin, the digit carressing the curve of her able jawline, forming words from the thrill of his supreme victory.

"You will not regret this, decision. I give you my word." Murmered with all sincerity.

Evie's head tips in a nod, the same motion to which she closes her eyes and draws a breath of composure before attempting an answer.

But before she can open them again, Starrick gently pulls her chin up enough towards his mouth and smoothly presses his lips to her's. It is a motion that is followed by the pressing of his body forward against her, reinforced by his unyielding arm across her back and a soft sigh through the deep depths of his nostrals and throat.

Her surprise is a hiccup compared to this smothering tenderness of this expression of his gratitude, and instead of falling into a swoon or growing upset, her stomach, rather, clenches in confusion. Her eyes flutter open, beholding only the view of his strong brow furrowed in concentration against the firelight, that and she feels his lips softly folding and moving against her own. A blossom of tight warmth, like a beating heart in her stomach, throbs then sparks like an ember within, in sudden response to this act of his. The glow of the Shroud shines from the deep of his collar and the instantanious rush of life and exhilaration that follows his initial contact makes her gasp into his kiss. At once he draws his own breath that steals the very air from her young lungs and then squeezes her even closer to his body and mouth with his iron arms.

Her eyes roll closed without thought, at that moment she indeed swoons a little. But she is aware enough to pull away, as indignation hits her like a knee to the stomach. She moans in complaint, pushing him away in a demand for pause. He moans in similar complaint but gives her that space to breathe, rests his forehead to hers. Leaning together, they are both breathing heavily and neither can deny these yearning sensations between them.

" _Starrick..."_ She is trembling, and her mouth is working on difficult breaths. Her corset only makes this more difficult but it heightens her exhilaration thats thrumming through her body. This was not something she wanted now...

" _I don't want this._."

Her hands hold his shoulders back away from herself but the way he cradles her tender waistline inspires her imagination if only for a moment. Not this obvious display of his pleasure but his comfort. Not love or lust, what ever these feelings were inside her tensed body, but a sense of protection from further fear or harm.

Starrick's hand moves from her jaw to thread her hair back and away from her face. He gently shushes her and promises. "Your actions are not binding, dear Eveline. I wish you to understand that I do not willingly hurt you. If you are hurting it is by your choosing.." His hand pushes firmly against her brow and temple, stroking her poor aching head as if he could sooth the very skull beneath. She pushes against the contact with a needy frustration, even without realizing it. Closing her eyes once more, she furiously hisses. "You **_bastard_.**."

Her words smother into his palm as his hand continues stroking her weary head. His open palm presses firm against her and makes pass after pass. Their united breathing becomes deep and frustrated, all of their difficulties with this moment and with each other bubbling to the surface of their thoughts and exorcise themselves out with these repetitive motions. Every heart beat draws their breath harder and their touches more needing. Their heads work this way against each other's, in a manner that draws them even closer.

Till he strokes his hand behind her head, cupping the back of her neck and beginning to heatedly kiss her brow-her cheek-and her soft pink neck. She swallows into it and shoves him back but as soon as he relents then she gives and he is upon her again. He returns his attention to her by cuping her cheek again. She forces herself against him to try to push him away, but he will not move and instead her body moves against his enough to cause her to perse her lips, panting. She leans against him, shaking her head back and forth. "I will not be your pleasure..." She insists this heatedly but his mouth falls upon her's again and their breath snuffs against the other in smothered sighs and desperate inhales.

 _"I hate you_ -" She gasps, her voice thick with the roiling emotion and how he was smothering her. Her arms were trembling and clutching at the thin fabric around his collar and shoulders.

He breaks away long enough to whisper harshly. "I _know_ you do." Then draws her breath away again. She fights him, pushing him and digging her nails into his back but her legs--her damn gown--damn it all.. It was so hard to think rationally.

His left arm pulls her front to his own, and even though her corset is stiff and unyielding, she can still feel his strength and power and it's force against her; and the same was holding her fast.

Then she is lost to him and he to her.. Their breath becomes ragged between them, punctuated by her half hearted strikes or struggles then just as soon drown in his raw masculinity. A surge of vulnerability causes her to struggle away. Enough that she pulls away but not free, twisting her head as far to the left and away as she could. But his mouth falls to the right side fo her neck and he sinks his teeth in a single bite into the taut, stretched flesh between her neck and shoulder--her outcry is a gasp of outrage that moans into a throaty sigh. He did not draw blood but it is the viral intention behind the action that explodes her tremulous emotion. When he chose to sink his teeth into her again, her head jerks back over towards him, he returned to her and their mouths clashed with a desperate fury.

For only a moment the rasping of her breath and the way her trembling lips pressed against him gave him, for the briefest second, the oddest feeling of being needed..

But the next second, the blaze fury of Evie Frye returned. And it was in the violence of the kiss that he understood and she is able to fully express her disgust for him, her distain for all he had done, threatened and stood for. Everything he was and her hatred for what he is doing to her! All he had done to everyone she loved and then for London and everyone else. This she expressed without shame and without restraint, her wiry fingers tear at his coat and her hands clutch at the fabric behind his shoulders. She rolls the cloth in fistfuls, her breath and a feral groan heaving into his open mouth, physically fighting to overcome his upper hand; his domination. Her teeth catch his lips and she tastes the smug seduction of his twisted, dark mustache. Her head twisted left and right to overcome him, the hard sounds of her desperate breaths and his growling moans fueled each other onward. He was momentarily surprised by the ferocity of her passion, tasting it in his mouth and moistening his lips. In all this he couldn't prevent a single step backward--and instead of retreating as he predicted she would, Evie pressed forward. This wild aggression--as if this was the only way she could make him understand her or have a chance convince him otherwise.

Starrick in turn held her with the same amount of yearning, gripping her corset with hungry fingers. He was irritated with the gloves that separated their skin but he was unwilling to surrender his hold in order to remove them. The instant she withdrew for a full breath of her own, he strike like a viper to devour her lips with his again. He felt her slap him with the hand she must have secured but then a second later that same hand dug into the thick hair of his temples and tangled through it's thick mess till she got a grip tight as death. Again and again for an unaccountable length of time, their lips and the heat of their passion warring between them; pushing and pulling in a lusting hate.  
Evie helpless in the rage of this animalistic isolation, crushed with grief and guilt and hate for her cowardly self--it was these turmulous emotions and passions that struck together and against each other again and again. Indefinite and nearing infinite, like a inferno threatening to consume them both forever, as the passing hands on a clock face ticked by...

_Her breath--His breath--Her touch--His touch._

The soft chime of the grandfather clock sang along with the softened cracking of the fireplace. Their breath began to wane in soft gasps and the sounds of their mouths grew moist and longing. It wasn't long before they were clinging to each other instead of fighting, their shared kiss now something bordering tender...

It was realizing this in that moment that caused Evie to still at last. All in a rush she snapped from her clouded mind and jerked to a stop, only to meet almost confused gaze as his eyes opened to meet her's, he too quite displaced to so quickly come to end their shared moment. Reflexively she refused to meet his accusation, shocked with what she had done, she used her hair wrapped hand to thrust his head up and his lusting mouth away from her to point his now panting mouth away from her own and towards the ceiling for a respite. She was firm enough that he couldn't tempt her to lower it again, so he rested his chin upon her forehead to regain their composures. Their collective breath was thick and loud, heaving through the room's quiet like raging waves after a storm at sea.

And it was a long time like this, holding each other in such an intimate and passionate manner. The air between them didn't cool but it certainly lost its lusty atmosphere and so trading the need, for somthing along the means of solace and understanding... Perhaps even attachment? It was then as they clung to each other that Evie seemed to realize something inside, and a mirid of emotions passed through her eyes and her features before settling into a wide eyed mask. At last she drew a final breath and then moved away from him.

Her voice stilted, was hollow. And she whispered in a low voice. " _Goodnight, Starrick.._ " Before swiftly stepping away. He gingerly let her go, anxious in the weary silence she left behind. The last glimpse of her golden gown as it trailing behind her solemnly and out the door.

The door closed with a last tone of finality, a familiar chill settling in the solitary room and cooling the face of his body. Since the delicate source of his warmth had fled away and left him there alone; to contemplate what this evening had provided for him. But his dark eyes fix themselves on the door for long moment, taking another long moment to regain his senses and bearings. Collecting his thoughts with a sigh, stepping to the fireplace, he shimmies out of his overcoat, discarding it over the back of the lounge chair. His gaze returns blindly into the singing flames, remembering the tenderest of her kisses and how tightly she had pressed herself into the crooks of his indifferent body. The flames danced orange and golden red, licking at the at him just as her need and hate licking at his cold heart; every fiber of her begging for him to stop and to see and to care enough...

He knew she wanted this torture to end, for his butchery to cease; she wanted to be free again but she did not know that until she stood beside him as his devoted equal and partner, of her free will--even beyond the fears for her "captive" brother and friend-- that he would not rest until she was entirely his. In body and soul and in mind, wholeheartedly.

Letting go was to be the most difficult thing for her to give him, but in return he would make her a queen and a goddess beside him. Was such a promise of perfect peace and harmony to at last create a just world not worth the fury and the hell that he was causing her to endure?

In the end, she would see it. He swore to himself and to her this night that it would be so. And as the fireplace flared once more he saw her face in the ghost of his mind; all her pain and her sorrow over time would be forged into a singular rod of dedicated devotion. A warrior for humanity and for the good of mankind, devoid of the blight of her blood and her Creed. This mirage looked into him and her pale lips parted in a low whisper as she faded away. _'Goodnight Starrick..'_

This was their destiny and he would have no other. His lashes at last cover his weary eyes and he answers.

 

_"Goodnight Eveline."_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 18, 815 words. I frickin died after writing, editting and rereading this FULL THROUGH at least 8 times...XP


	6. The Steppings Stones of Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Lordship Ceremony Ball, Starrick begins the push for his Order and his visions to propel Humanity forward. Evie stands now at his side, her heart finding its compass in the wild tides of her given choices, for better or for worse. And at last the presence of hope, though frail, have landed in London at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to all the kind people and faithful followers that have continued to read, comment, kudo or to give this work notice after this eternal wait. I do not have any greater words for you all beside the deepest thanks and appreciation, you are all so dear to me:)
> 
> By name and in (attempted)order of first to kudo or comment to last--all I am equally grateful to:) Please fill the comments with scolding me for so long a wait, I couldn't help it, between my schedule at home and the last chapter burned me out so damn badly that I was at a complete loss of how to meet the expectations I had set for myself. But scold me please! Also any advice to help me not lose my motivation and for inspiration, do any of you have any tips or tricks? (Please???) So now comes the time to get this damn shame of a chapter up, but first my dearest thanks go to:
> 
> 1littleshadow  
> elienne(:*)  
> NerwenNoir(:*)  
> kamiccolo  
> Bluidquine  
> SweetPrincessRenee(:*)  
> oopale  
> Golden_Halla(:*)  
> kit572  
> Vanill(:*)  
> Aiso  
> PanadaPolaris  
> missawsomnes  
> Stickie  
> Holloway10  
> ripewriter  
> And every single guest account, especially:)  
> Levian  
> caroLina(:*)  
> Luthienberen(:*)  
> Clare(:*)  
> Hailey(:*)  
> TheQueensFavouriteCorgi(:*)  
> Tierney(:*)  
> Allie(:*)  
> Serafina(:*) (p.s. Ive been offline for a few months and have only checked your comment recently. Sorry Love!)
> 
> Again thank you all soo much for sharing your support and favorite parts of this monster fic!  
> All my love,  
> ~MDG

 

~

 

 

 

_Dear his majesty, Mr. Singh,  
_

 

_I write to you this evening, in a confession that beg does not disturb your confidence in me._

_I have sold my soul to the devil tonight. He came to me, promising good to all if I but stand beside him and use my tools of subtlety and subterfuge to break down the last resistances to him in London, to ensure that his reign will see no end and in return for my sacrifice, the peoples of this city will not be punished--they will no longer have to suffer as they have and they will no longer be pawns in this game of domination._

_For my part in this I am become the vilest traitor. Please do not argue, I know you have only kindness in your heart and that in your own way you understand my position but you will attempt to argue merit. Sadly, just like your own position for these long years as the Black Prince of Perthshire, which is a name you carry so bravely and so well, you understand that the people you love and protect with your compromises inevitably grow to hate you, they cannot help but only see you on the enemy's side, never knowing what you've given them in return for their safety. I never thought of you in this way, I understood it all-- all except why you never seemed to fight back... and it's this very night that I have finally fallen far enough to see, that not only was it never your choice but that amongst these cunning wolves there is no escape from the weapons they brannish with pride. Truth, conviction, honorablity: they take the virtues you hold dearest and turn them to regret or your own weakness, a poison that over time you realize is growing within and cannot hope to escape daily it's effects on you._

_Take this in all seriousness, for I am warning you, taking you to my confidence as to what I have done. I asked you lastnight if you knew where my brother was but now I do not wish to know. I am as much a Templar now, not in oath--God forbid-- but in deed, in heart and in all else I am. The truth of my childhood, of my life is gone and it leaves a void in me that I am consumed with a need to fill. Forgive me, I have fallen so far that I believe even if I were free, I could not with conscience return to the ways I called holy once before._

_Of our momentary talk you had also asked if I still treasured the refreshment of flowers and I admit eagerly that I do, they mock me in every passageway with their blooming goodness but I take shelter within their fragrances. Your presence, however, would be even more precious to me in this moment of need. Perhaps with permissions I could invite myself to tea with you, I have thought I should arrange that as soon as possible for in all this I fear I may go mad. In either case, your words and your friendship are treasured to me in this moment, if possible more then ever. I pray you receive this rather sudden notice well and in fair health._

 

_Ever yours, Miss Frye._

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 _ Buckingham Palace. _ _Three months after the Lordship Ceremony Ball._

 

The worldwide changes thereafter were monumental, a new era seemed to arise from the new law and order that Crawford Starrick had spent a glittering evening exhorting to all his attending allies. And now that his seat had been secured he began to push the front for worldwide commentary that was aimed largely towards working with the Great Powers to discover and exercise a universally agreeable, fundimentaly mutual unification of order and understanding between each of the world’s greatest nations.

 

Naturally, as important of a subject as that would be would require or at least beg an intimate discussion between London and all other world leaders it would concern, in order to draw up a series of documents, all that would sufficiently contain the necessary propriety and seriousness in writing that the Order had for so long envisioned, this required that Starrick met with each representative personally to discuss each measure. He spent days harbored within his office’s inner chambers with each nation’s member to fully disclose each intimate interest and personal desire, where would their nation’s future alliance be in the next decade and many matters besides. The circle of Grandmasters stood behind Starrick, for oversight and thoughtful foresight, as each had been recalled from their seats in the world to provide Starrick with support and insight into each respective nations needs. Allowing him to meet their concerns before they could even express them, covering months of careful wordplay in a few moments, paving the way for short benificial work in the meeting room.

 

The Italian Grandmaster notified Starrick via letter a congradulations from afar but as matters between Italy and Austria were growing tense, Italians proclaimed publicly how they wished Italy free of Austria and declaring their need for unification and liberation. Such a political situation smelt ripe for one the Creed’s predictable attempts at intervention and so he remained to ensure that it was not so.

 

With letters from other Masters worldwide of congradulation and guidance alongside those Grandmasters yet present, their very presence grounded Starrick’s decisions, reinforcing everything with an iron definition that proved the strength and the power that came with such an ancient, united understanding. The questions that had circled, doubts that had carried through the whispers of the people and the world fell away in all but three months, the City of Light becoming the foreman on the global front of innovation. With the direction Great Britain now took, advancing in industry, medicine, even foreign policy and social standing—what Starrick had had in mind for humanity all along—appeared as the second Golden age ready to blossom, setting a role model for the remaining four Great Powers.

 

 

Journalism rose as a feverish plague within this short time, the covers of newspapers struggled to keep up with the constant flow of stories and headlines as history being made, the public demanding to be a part of it. Great Britain’s example was seconded across the nations as their peoples simmered with a buzzing appetite of approval.

 

 

Given with all this publicity, millions of eyes upon his every breath, Starrick more then met the daunting task head on, with a passionate livery and humble zeal all the while standing strong in every stand he made. Evie Frye was not hidden away this time, with her given consent to aid in this power she was given no small part in all this undertaking. Following at his arm during every affair of state, she was asked often to offer advisement and a second opinion to the innumerable stances taken, depended on to sensibly guide his manners and decisions with her commonly wisdom, to please both the public opinion and his players in power. Her time amongst the common folk of London was key, her knowledge of their collective opinion dictated their approach to the refinements of Law. Not only that but within the first few weeks Starrick plunged her into the center of political importance, having her witness the meetings held with the assigned delegates of France, Spain and Germany to start, serving as his personal envoy of counsel to which she soon lost herself. She was thus photographed present for every following ambassador's discussions, the parlament's treaty reforms and to the month long matters of foreign policy.

 

 _Eveline's private journal reads here with her late night entries, how: "During this time I tried to keep my personal opinions to myself, advising him at arms-length, not truly engaging myself in the heart of affairs. But after the weeks of his gentlemanly manners, his strength and dedication to the best of Britain and above all was his own professional dignity and respect newly displayed towards me, I found it fruitless to remain indifferent. He hasn't treated me with any manner resembling arrogance nor dismissive smug importance, admitting to myself my own discomfort after our more then intimate 'discussion' on the eve of his Ball. Instead he seems to have concentrated both our united focus and efforts to betterment and improving what political demands that we daily must meet for the day, constantly calling to the importance of the world and how every decision we made in this the private office of the palace was_ **critical** to the whole world _; having historical weight, more then intended to impact the whole of mankind."_

In the diary's notes to come her guarding paranoia and interior hold of a silent grudge towards him that had burned so long within after all these imprisoning months, wore upon her finally. Realizing to herself what a waste of time her bitter manners and under toned sarcasms were creating only further discord in herself. Being that no matter how distant or short she responded or dealt with him, he only further immersed himself in patience and indifference, centered on the tasks at hand. It was a night, one last event to shame him was where she childishly snapped at him on a petty article of the American's delayed arrival, where he finally lost his patience. He coldly expressed his "disappointment for her short delivery on her opinion yet again, falling yet again into the brattish behavior she had promised him she would abandon. If this was the worth of her word then how faithless it must truly be."  He had swiftly dismissed her with a sharp hand in the air and she was escorted out and to her quarters, where she was left alone in her cool quarters to ponder to herself her consequences. It was here she decided to gingerly open her eyes at last to a possibility that this was no longer part of their pretended games they once played-- that this was beyond that simplicity and so very real, that she ought to own up to the bed she had made and lie in it.

 

Thus her wary distance gave way to a manner of professionalism, dedicating her assistance after owning up to a formal apology to him the next morning. Then after, moving to act swiftly on to full cooperation into the following weeks. With this they began to seek out how best to accomodate each other's vision, aiding one another’s burdens and responsibly shouldering the state’s duties by studiously working together. The mornings and evenings blended after some adjusting into manageble weeks and then easy months; developing and adopted a system of management and communication that carried them well through the anxious discussions involving the Order’s table top plans and the individual, political needs of the Nations.

 

So dedicatedly she had herself--effectively changing her manner in what had appeared overnight, as to be nearly unrecognizable from her former self that supper one very long evening ago--It was sharing a similar supper one evening, this one in their second month, that he had her wait before retiring for the evening. Producing a crisp letter from his pocket he rose, came to her side and confessed a most sincere thanks to her, infinitely gratious for all she had given with her time and dedication. Gifting her an official documentation of her title, presenting it to her for inspection.

 

She examined this gift of such a position of importance, her stomach fluttering as her nimble fingers plucked the cooled seal. Swiftly grasping the black flow of words scratched therein, she didn’t feel at first his hands come to rest comfortingly upon her noble shoulders, for this simple letter had in few words declared her blood and rights and that she was by all understanding, all reasoning his closest equal in power--by her influence to and over him and how she held the greatest power of any next to him. For all her suffering, all her endurance she had bitten the bullet and was now a god of petition to the poor people of London; in fact the whole world. As no decision he made after was acted upon without first asking after her counsel and nothing passed into paper or pen without her final counsel and approval, it was just as he had promised so long ago to her for her comeuppance and he was now paying her handsomely with position and purpose.

 

_If she wished to escape she most certainly could now. This very letter the means to her freedom that no one would argue, she could pass notes of all Starrick’s movements, the Order’s plans—she could essentially be history’s most infamous traitor, and with all this the Creed could come sweeping in and destroy them._

 

_But. How would this help London? Looking through the mourning Evie of old who cried out daily “How could you?” Every time she bowed her head to the Grand Masters essembaled or wished Starrick a goodnight, that Evie saw this note and tore at her soul with bloody nails, screaming to do as her father would have done, her brother would do. To take this chance, destroy them all and back stab each single one until all lay at her feet with wide, betrayed eyes and breathless corpses… This old Evie telling her, looking at her trapped in this hostage’s body to tell her to be the free woman, the Assassin, the daughter of a Frye for godsake and do what seemed so plain and would be so easy! “For Jacob! For Henry! Are you going to just stay here and cower in shame and self pity forever?! With him..?”_

_And to all this only a quarter seconds passed upon the old clock, not an eternity as her interior struggles went on and on. In these passing moments she finally felt his hand upon her shoulder, his thumb unconsciously drawing nimble circles on the frilled lace of her powder blue gown, and it was this that cooled the fire within her and caused the old Evie to blush-- for she declared to her old self “My twisted, bloodthirsty views of this world are dead, like you surely would have been. My eyes see now that death is an easy answer, an answer the coward takes up as a mantle to hide his pathetic weakness and his shame. Where Aristotle and Plato have given us the wisdom of peace through wisdom and conversation, you would instead act to silence those voices if they ever dared to denounce your wrongs. Nothing is perfect! Hear me, Coward!” her interior self stares without answer, with a paled face of shame. “I have taken the hardest route! I have denounced myself, given my ways to the right and suffered to break myself. Even into the very depths of my soul! Who else can claim to have suffered thus? You? My brother you will not use against me, he has suffered enough, he no longer needs my poor example—my twisted teachings that created a girl, pretending all her life to be a woman and here and now do I finally, with faltering feet, discover all that I had declared as fool and folly and instead only proved that I was the foolish one! Stupid, blind and full of pride, I now have taken measures to ammends..” She sees the old Evie’s mind churning, hears the tenets once more._

_Nothing is true, everything is permitted. What a disgusting lie--meant to give men the belief that so long as no witness could speak of their crimes, that there was none. That they were free to do as they willed, without reprimend, without answer to another. Without conscious._

_“No.” She chided her old sister. “Chaos does not right a world. Order does.” And her old voice, the voice of argument falls silent, quelled in this moment but not silenced. The old Evie whispers one last thing. “Very well, sister. If that gives you peace..” and she steps back into the shadows of her mind, for the time being._

 

In herself, coming back to the tickings of the clock, she now feels the warm hand on the skin of her neck pause. His deep voice gently asks. “Eveline, are you well?”

 

She decidedly has no other words to say then those that fell (traitorously) from her lips, knowing that the old Evie would be even more enraged and shamed within her. But she herself doesn’t need to look up to feel his eyes as they bore down on her to feel his patient acceptance of whatever she answered. She answers the gift that was her power to do good with gratitude, humbled. "It is an _honor_ , Starrick. Thank you, for this."

 

He squeezes her shoulder now. “Excellent. Take it to your room and keep it with you, if ever one is foolish enough to ask for your officiation you may present this as your confidence.” With a simple press of his lips to her soft hair, he wishes her a good evening and retires. It is a few moments of quiet contemplation in the silence she was left to before she herself rises as well, fingering the parchment thoughtfully all the way to her own chamber. Warm inside with her newfound conviction, her first taste of accomplishment in almost 8 months and with a new responsibility, of new importance and peace.

 

Following in the next two months to come, it is with an entire agreement within their nightly midnight meetings that the last letters were penned within the antichamber of Starrick's office. Before the entire essembled Order, Evie seated at the foot of the long polished oak table, that their greatest work for peace is birthed into being. Starrick signs it with a final scratch of pen in the flickering candlelight and to the silent nods of all assembled he says quietly. "For the world."

 

 

_After these many discussions and national meetings held over those three months, each with the full support of each nation’s willing leader or ambassador, the Allies of the First Order was signed by treaty into being. The date was the fourth of August, 1869._

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

 _ Westminster London _ _. Three months after the Lordship Ceremony Ball, as well._

 

 

 

“Papers! Get yer papers!”

 

Teeming as it had been with life and business, the mid summer bustle of merchantile, bodies and animals, London’s political affairs were being boasted of on the cover of every newspaper and town crier. Adding to the usual city chaos were constables shouting orders, redirecting coaches along the highways and byways, shopkeepers crowing about their dressmaking or suit fashions or sales, then the godawful baying of the beasts dragging cart and carriage amidst the cacophony of voices is what made up the general atmosphere of the city’s ruckus. The crowds pushed and shoved along their daily goings-on, and there is a man that almost a year ago would have easily stood out among the rest. Where he would have strutted prouder then a prize cock so many months ago, top hat and all, just under the Queen’s in being able to claim the very streets as his own--now hiding himself from suspicion with a fake limp and a tattered cap and coat, Jacob Frye makes his way to the bawling paper lad and holds his wool gloved hand out for a newspaper.

 

“Excuse me lad, I’ll take one of those of your hands.” Plastering a grin on his sharp lips, he peers at the adolescent with the eye that isn’t cleverly covered with a mud stained patch. His words almost not heard over some stray mutt as it barks along the street’s walk at passers-by, and a man shouts at the poor creature, joining the rest of the noise all about.

 

The Assassin slips the boy two pieces of copper, who looked no older then 15 . But thats about the only age that he had seen roaming this damn city, well that and older but he and Henry had yet to find where all the little scrubs had run off to.. or worst yet, what Starrick might have done with them all.

 

“Gotchya one roight here, boss-” His dirty hair is combed in an attempt to look presentable, his face scrubbed red by cold water and wind and his clothes, though patched, looked as though they fit him well enough. And not only that but giving a look about the packed streets Jacob found many young boys who looked much the same, crowing across London begging all to inspect their wares.

 

All of this a fair change from the gangly starved sights Jacob had expected to find, so surprisingly enough now that he gave the lad a second (and far better)look over, the boy appeared altogether worn but healthy.

 

His confusion went unnoticed as the boy, with a cheery smile of his own, passes a thick bundle of London’s latest gossip over to the Frye. Jacob immediately pulls it tight against his body to fight the gusting breeze that would have torn the paper right from his hands, making to ‘limp’ away, remembering to praise the boy with a finger to his cap. “That’a boy, keep up the fine work.”

 

“Thank ye much, sir” The young lad appeared emboldened with his profit made to call louder. “Read awl about it, people! I say again--” His young voice fading into the hubbub all around.

 

Jacob put enough distance between himself and the shoving shoulders to find a quiet side alleyway, at last allowing his attention to fall to the front page of the article in his hands, grasping it tightly against the tugging wind that every citizen was fighting this morning, but not only for the wind as his knuckles whiten further for the heading on the front page that caused his brow to fall heavily over his angled face in horror and disgust.

 

 

“My my Mr. Starrick, you slippery cocked fox..” His murmur growls from his throat like a caged fight mutt, indistinguishable from the hundreds of goings on, no one to witness or care as he slaps up the fake eye patch to glare fully at the fine but uncertain print as it praised the Templer’s greatest work indeed. A shot to every Assassin’s heart, what was sure to mean the end of the Creed.

 

 

“You’ve certainly got some filthy business up your sleeve.” Slapping the paper underneath his arm, he replaces his disguise with a deft finger and muscles his way back to the street, shoving his way past the grumbling crowd of business men and ladies alike, striking off towards Westminster Station as a gentle drizzle follows the blustery breeze. To notify one member of their little coop that there would be a meeting to hold to find out what their next move would be with Starrick’s new games afoot.

 

 

Jacob cut through the crowds, weaving his way through the well known streets, reflecting on the meeting they would have to have back at home--well rather what they now called home, for the time being. Not Henry's shop this time, they hadn't even been able to visit it for a quick peek. It had been boarded shut by the crooked officers, no doubt under Templar's higher orders. Henry had approved abandoning it as well, knowing best that there would be nothing left useful to be salvaged for their cause. They hadn't looked back.

 

Also hadn't been a realistic option, as comfortable and convenient as it had been. In fact neither even cared to mention it.  Mostly as it has been quickly discovered what had befallen their faithful former transport, how it had been derailed and scrapped for parts and iron with a brutal efficiency that suggested that Starrick--Somehow-- had discovered it's true opperation and had so made certain it would never provide such an easy mode of safety for his enemies again. No, instead they were cleverly camped in the very heart of the rats nest; where all the coming in's and going out's of all Starrick's personal orders and dealings began from and fed out, to the poor rats of the imprisoned city.

 

The Constable's Station. Or in more homey words.. Freddie's basement.

 

 

 Jacob shifts through the packed streets, veering down the congested alley ways for a bit more elbow space, stepping over the lame and begging that still riddled the backstreets. A particular cluster of filthy blokes whimper as he passes for "a coin or two" making to tug at his own patchwork coat. He shakes his head, having to pass them by, as poor as he was dressed his coat still had a hood for the dreary rain.. and for what good would word on the street do that began to tell of another hooded savior like the dastardly Frye pair had once been? The voices tugged at him worse then the hands had as his heavy, muddy footfalls carry him far away.

 

He couldn’t help aching a little, from both his healing ribs acting up and the familiar pain of burning frustration and impatience of business left unfinished. Reminding him of the blistering rage he had felt months ago back when he still believed Evie was dead... feelings so base, yawning wide like black void—so primal he could have thirsted physically for blood. The crushing terror and hate that had left his insides scorched raw so long ago with all he had felt then.. He's never admit it, not to anyone, how frightened to death he had been; the thought, the belief that he was now alone forever more. To continue without the shadow of his older twin who had always been beside him, there to chide him, challenge, rebuke and in all unwilling words to guide him-- he had felt as if he had been buried alive in an abyss, as if it was He that had failed the last living member of his family.

 

 He had been shocked. But now, having come to terms that she was alive, those feelings had lessoned only a little, not disappearing like he was expecting them to. Instead he was fighting an anxiety, a hidden panic inside. Instincts that were lurking just below his tongue and waiting to resurface; most likely in another argument with poor, stupid Henry. The man he could hardly stand without rolling his eyes, mister perfect manners and looks to whom his sister used to all but blush at the mention of his name…

 

Jacob sighs, exhausted. He didn’t want to keep treating him that way it was just so hard not to hate him. For his weakness, for his hesitation, for his cowardace at leaving her to her fate. Alone. Left for dead.

He understood that Henry did it to save them both, to ensure in the long run that they would be able to return. The smartest choice. Looking so far ahead and planning for the future—just like his sister always preached.

 

‘ _Oh Evie.’ He found himself thinking. ‘What would you have done in my boots? Would you have condoned leaving you behind? Of course you would have. The mission always mattered, not the feelings; or something like that. Even now you would be nagging at me to pay attention, to look at the obvious and expect deceptions. To read the signs and to predict-- but Evie I never worked like you! “It’s always where you failed to look” I know, but how am I going to put that to use when I never was able to see how you saw things?! How do you expect me to use the tools that I’ve never practiced before because I’ve never needed to?! I’m not you--!”_

 

 _Focus._ He could hear her voice now. _Stop being such a drama queen._ He stands rooted, closing his eyes and centering himself to the second heart that’s always beat in his chest. Listening to the conscience whose voice has always been her’s.

 

_You’re thinking too hard. You’re letting your emotions get carried away. What you have to start with is what you do know and work from there. Find a base. You’ve done that. Find connections. Persons and places that will aid you or that will give you information to sharpen your angle on the situation. Oppertunities are going to arise once you’ve discovered and marked your targets. And when they do, the factual information you have gained will be the only advantage you need._

 

“Its not about luck, it’s a plan.” He hears himself say. “It’s about your focus and the time you spend well waiting and learning. It’s your moment of clarity that will show you precisely when to strike.”

 

Giving voice to her words, as if quoted from her ghost lips. _‘Thank you, sister.”_

 

So he starting off once more, feeling a warm peace settle over him, sending a thrill of energy and hope into his step again. And despite how she had always expressed an ill humor for his belief in luck, he felt it’s presence had manifested itself.

 

Particularily in the bit of luck that had happened nearly 2 months ago, in the form of the man to whom he was making off to see. Their own Freddy Abberline. A damn nucence that he could be but in his heart Jacob believed without him they would be nowheres. For finding him had been almost an accident, in fact the last year if all had been now what it was then he might have almost killed him. The young Frye grins despite himself at the memory.

 

 

 

_... As it was 2 months ago on another smoggy night in Lady London, the street lights had cast long lazy shadows upon her streets. A stray cat chased another into the darkness under another idle coach wheel as two drunk gents hauled each other along the cobbled road. Occasionally curtains parted on a dark street houses, spying fingers and gleaming eyes peering out from within. A number of Templar men making their dutiful watches as night watch constables occasionally met in the squares to report, groveling, trembling before Starrick’s bullys as if they owned the very cobble the officers patrolled._

 

_Nothing Jacob hadn’t seen before, as with a grimace he pulled himself along the shadows. Retreating along the backways for hours on his own rounds, working with the coming sunrise towards their rat hole he and Henry were using at the moment for their ‘hideout’._

 

_The Templar ushers the constable on his way, with his back to the assassin Jacob leaps upward, climbing carefully up and over one of London’s many graveyard stone walls. Much easier, he did note, then he had in a long time but resolved to do so carefully as he could not afford pulling his new healed body out of shape again. And more then that he didn’t believe he could bear the nagging from Henry that would most certainly follow._

 

_It was easier also without the long, heavy, fashionable coats he had begun to prefer once hitting the city. Not having to drag it’s awful weight about was sensible. Damn how he missed his top hats, however.._

 

_Creeping about the walls, keeping to the sighing boughs of the silent, mourning trees, Jacob passes over each gateway from above. Trekking carefully and trying to identify the members of the red cross brigade as they marched through the grave stones._

 

_Now imagine his surprise when the next officer to pass beneath him instead of marching forward, snobbishly snooping through every underbush instead nervously slips out of sight of the Templar watchmen at the main gate and presses his back to the wall standing beneath Jacob’s boots. More curiously he seems to pull out a wad of notes and begins to scribble something almost frantically, murmuring about “--if I don’t lose my head after this one, damn them all I will march to the grave by my own power--”_

 

_Now the curiousity on the assassin’s face stretched to a silent “O” of his mouth, as he recognized without a doubt the rediculously nervous, unbelievable petty Mr. Abberline himself yet alive. And besides that completely oblivious to his former assassin friend’s presence._

 

‘ _Of all luck.’ He had thought amazed, almost snorting outloud as his mind spun to the possibilities. Finding Freddie here and **alive** \-- it was perfect because it meant that somewhere the fool had been hiding and keeping himself alive, even after his directly indirect involvement with the Assassins who had attempted to assassinate Starrick himself. If anything at the worst it meant he was still alive to be bait—and at the very best it meant that they didn’t have a damn clue about his involvement and he was pretending to be a sheep amongst wolves. Well he must have been clever enough to keep his head down, his mouth shut, his rediculous costumes out of sight but his eyes wide open. Perfect. _

 

_Now he hadn’t thought of Freddie as a means of aiding their activity here but instead what a grand idea to utilize him for his bumbling infiltration. He had to know where they could saftly stay and may know who else of their friends who may be yet alive and willing to aid them once more._

 

_So grinning like the devil Jacob throws a quick two fingered salute of thanks towards the Church steeple towering above him and stands tall, eyeing his surroundings, noting the positions of the other officers before dropping quietly just behind his friend and said--_

 

“ _Well it’s good to see a familier face--” but Freddy yelped with an oath and threw a fist at Jacob’s soot smudged face(at the time was his only available disguise), swearing something terribly unclever like.. “Good Godfrey-!” Jacob jerking back faster then thought, reflexivly throwing up his hands to ward off a follow up attempt, and having to catch and hold fast to the panicing fist. “Sloppy, Freddy it’s just me-”_

 

_But Freddie barks “Unhand me, wretched villian—graverobbing will not be tolerated on my watch!” and threw his other fist. The one full of his crumpled notes._

 

_Having to catch that one as well, Jacob holds onto it and with a sure step or two gains his footing and pushes back at his captive constable, his greater mass and weight easily subduing him. “Freddie it’s me, J--” But Freddie, seemily so startled out of his secrets and his wits, in the face of this hooded, sooted sudden menace and couldn’t make any sense of who had jumped him. The poor man snarling admirable, tugging to get away. Jacob only held him tighter, now hissing in sharp whispers. “Would you just take a moment??” He had to glance away quickly, seeking the sounds of rushing boots. But thank God no one had heard the obnoxious oaf. Yet. “It’s me, it’s Jacob, you idiot--”_

 

_Just then Freddie chose to shout, interrupting him again. “Assault—assau-!” but Jacob swung a filthy, patched glove over the idiot’s mouth, smothering his stupid voice as the two officers—whom he had noted earlier-- cried out behind them, somewhat. “What’s that? What’s going on—did you hear something-?” and then boots began crunching towards the pair on the wet, chipped cobble._

 

_Rolling his eyes, pinning the oaf, Jacob glances around and spots the steeple above them. Swapping his hand for coiling his arm around Freddie’s side instead, he throws his left wrist towards the steeple roof top for the second time tonight and fires his rappel line. Freddie does no more then bleat like a shocked goat his head twisting around in fright, gaining a single glance at the line and Jacob, who ignores him and grits his teeth ‘This is going to feel dandy-” just as the line snapped tight and with a whirl and squealing gears and cable they are both jerked into the sky—a few moments later he(and his poor ribs) lugged the stupid deadweight to the safety of the roof ledge.. W here he promptly crushed his hand to Freddie’s mouth to make certain he wouldn’t so much as peep. Effectivly silencing him while the sounds of the searching officers murmered beneath them, no doubt anxious to discover where such a commotion had come from._

 

_J acob leaned flush against the man, shaking his head in what might have been comic disbelief. “I knew you were thick, Freddie, but even in that consideration I would have thought you should at least remember **me** .” With that Jacob whips his free hand up, throwing back the tattered begger’s hood to reveal his sharp, feral features to be the damn devil Frye. Even with the soot, the moon’s bright light shows there is no mistakening for the poor constable, whose struggles are finally stilled, dumbfounded and choking(by the look on his face) on the sudden recognition. Only as he falls limp with eyes large a saucers does Jacob remove his other hand slowly from Freddie’s mouth and stepped away to give him space to finally breath. Though he scowls at the moist residue of the struggle there on his glove and wipes it once upon his coat before regarding Freddie with a half hearted shrug and a cocky grin. _

 

“ _Good to see you,_ Fredrick _.”Reveling in the response of an obnoxious spasm of expression as the man who had no capacity to enable him to speak sensibly in this moment._

 

 

_Freddie remains open mouthed, finally sputtering nonsensically. Harshly whispering in a ramble that somehow may be understood how the rediculousness of this whole interlude was still beyond his comprehension._

 

_Jacob’s arms swing wide, disarmingly casual about it all. “What? A church top isn’t romantic enough an entrance for you?” Irking him to find his tongue quickly with a mild imitation of a stage player’s bow. “After all we’ve been through I hadn’t thought it had have been easy to forget a face like mine.”_

 

_That finally burst the man’s bubble, perhaps even regretably so for find his tongue he did. “Mercy on the Queen, Jacob! I had thought your sorry soul long dead!” His voice had raised a little, uncomfortably trembling with all a man might feel in such a moment. Jacob leaned a bit over the edge to catch a look at the ground’s safely below then glanced back watching a further collection of emotions tumble across the poor man’s face. Struggling to put all into words, sputtering in anger, relief, elation, fear and all manner in between._

 

_Jacob pressed a single digit to his pointed lips begging he soften his excitement, then whispers as a conspirator might. “Thought dead yet here I stand. The man upstairs must have heard your fervant bedside prayers.” Now grinning._

 

_Freddie is by no means impressed. “Be serious, man.” His legs tremble still and he leans heavier upon the shallow roof wall._

 

“ _I am being perfectly serious.” He rolls his neck and shoulder to ease the growing ache, but his own excitement begins to take him. He first means to pacify him so he says. “Yes I am alive, I am not a ghost. At least for now, unless you keep shouting about it. I’m here with Henry and we’re about to stir the pot again but what we need from you, bless your soul, would be a place to hide—that has meals and no rats—so that we can sort out this mess we’ve left unfinished.” He missed the way Freddie’s eyes narrowed and how he had begun shaking his head as Jacob finishes. “We’ve been up to our knees in Starrick’s thugs so far, and deeper once or twice. But you understand I’m telling you how difficult it’s been-”_

 

 

 _Freddie breaks him off, blurting out the news that must have been festering in his thoughts, no doubt, all these months. “Jacob, you simply can’t—no._ _Not with how this city sees you Assassins now. With all your promises that fell two crowns short and--” Freddie brightens stiffly as if he had remembered a horrid secret. “And with your own sister now_ _**in league** _ _with the devil Starrick! Have you not heard what she’s done, what she is still doing?” He doesn’t let Jacob utter a word, blurting on, voice intensifying. “She’s been in the Palace for the last month, dressed like a bloody grand duchess, and! The photographs! Standing at his side during the Lordship Coronation—aside every Templar known to God’s green earth—and there she stood_ _**with** _ _them. Miss Nightingale was beside herself with worry the first month after your disappearances, and for fear of our lives I haven’t come to check on her. No doubt worried herself to death already, she may even be buried her already, beneath our feet!? And the children_ _have been run off. They’re_ _gone, scattered—in fact all_ _your own Rooks were all but slaughtered by that monster’s orders and she has the gall to--”_

 

_Jacob heard enough and cuts him off. “She is being held hostage, Freddie, non of that is her own doing. She’s a bloody puppet. Now that’s why we’re here, to get her back.” Good news Freddie seemed on board. But typical that the second he finds his senses, he dives into the deepest pool of filth first.. He had always so loved his superstitions and his wild theories(the most easy reason he believed Henry and the secret war’s existence in the first place). Like a watchman’s fierce watchdog ready to bark and bay at the first thing in the dark that moved, racing off for the zealous chase. Not noticing the skulking catburgler stealing through the cellar door._

 

_Typically, Freddie snorts at Jacob’s defense of Evie’s character. “As I had first presumed, some sort of ruse like the likes of your lot favor but go and read the papers. You will see yourself that despite our fragile hopes that for a fact they are in cahoots with each other. Just look! She is at his right hand in everything he does, I’ve heard it, and he had been quoted thanking her for her ‘dedicated efforts to the needing London cause.’ What else would you make of that? For months I have been waiting, expecting her to contrive some brilliant scheme of murder and a valiant escape—I mean isn’t that what your kind do?? Being so near you’d have thought it would be easy for her to gut the devil, but no news of any such act or feat or even whispers of an attempt has come in all these long months of persecution and suffering has left me to fear the worst… Now I understand she’s your blood and all that rubbish but this act of betrayal is treason of the highest order! And at that, just to save your own skin is beyond a coward. And how am I to think of you now after such a matter--”_

 

“ _Enough, Freddie.” Jacob hisses. But not before similar thoughts chase through his mind, shifting Freddie’s blundering words into the twisting gloom of his doubts and fears, words cutting sharp like a black knife burying itself in his back. Something was happening or already had happened, it warned, something that bore great ill for the future already set in motion._

 

_(It’s here that he recalls his worries, his mind wrestling to not let his emotions get in the way. Like his sister always said.. But he didn’t know what else Starrick could do, only now coming to wonder what exactly Starrick might gain from holding Evie imprisoned like that for so long. Not ransom, the Council had received no notice. Not gloating, her body surely would be hanging if he wanted that. Perhaps bait? But if he is as cunning as they say then he must know that she is not a member so important as to lure anyone of exceptional rank from the shadows of the Creed to save her.. So was this all just for show? Simply to amuse him? Was it so that simpletons like Freddie would now see Assassins and be filled with bile and hate, with fear and mistrust and broken hopelessness of promises unfulfilled? Considering the complicated nature of her situation and knowing the sister he’s known since before birth, he just knew she was just waiting to take the devil to his grave. No matter how tightly she was holed up, even if by now she had forgotten what the sun looked like, she was resolution itself. If she declared that something would die then it was the same as a declaration from God. No one knew her like he did and so even if it was these near 9 months she may be planning this entire time he just knew in his soul that she was._

 

_And the only reason she would not be would be if Starrick had the gall to torture her, the very thought of her pale, freckled skin bearing scars boiled behind his eyes, reeling at the strength of the rush of hatred that followed._

 

_He may be wanting to exact revenge on the Creed, sating his hatred by destroying her image like this. Painting all their kind as an image to abhor, detest and distrust. Watching everyone turn on her. On them. It would certainly make keeping the city under better watch then last, a better motivation then just petty entertainment..)_

 

_There were too many things out of sight at work, with all these possible speculations, with all this muddle it had begun to build an ache in his skull as well as his side, his temples throbbing as he stared into the scowling, whiskered face of Abberline awaiting him to reach a conclusion. Jacob shakes his head, dismissing all that he had been contemplating to trust his sister and her judgments, to act as she saw fit or at least to continue to remain of enough use to the bastard until he came up with a brilliant idea himself on how to rescue her._

 

“ _She simply hasn’t yet had the chance.” He deflected Freddie arguing any further on the subject with. “And being my sister wasn’t the one I came all the way up here to talk to, I believe you owe me an ear.”_

 

_Freddie frowns at first, but Jacob gives a look as if he were raising a finger to silence and despite his irritation with the accusations leveled at his sister he moves to ask. “Now. You have and always will be a loyal son of the Crown, isn't this so?”_

 

_Confused, Freddie replies. “Yes I am.. but I am no idiot. What are you saying-”_

 

“ _What I’m saying is you would want to help your friends now when they need you the most as the make this mess right again, wouldn’t you?” The moonlight falling on the steeple top cast a dark blanker of shadow over their conversation. The cool night air blowing enough to toss their coats about, with the receeding sounds of their searchers footsteps as they grew bored and begun to wander away but not far enough to be comfortable yet._

 

_Freddie, now aware of the searching men, spares a glance. Then returns his suspicious eyes to Jacob and takes their fragile safety if given liberty to let his voice grow a little more stern. “You want something from me, I know it.” His whiskered mouth is now pressed in worry._

 

_His counterpart winces in a sly, easy grin. “Well—you always were so clever.”_

 

_Freddie scoffs as if his suspicions were confirmed. “So somewheres safe for you both, hmm? Safe for you that is but not for me. Your very presense is a death sentence, you realize that, hmm? And it’s because you know I have so little choice but to harbor you anyhow. You and your illicit operations, is that it?”_

 

_Pleased, knowing he had already won this victory, Jacob pats his shoulder heartily. “See there, not so thick after all.”_

 

_Freddie sags defeated, but continues as if it is still up for debate even though he had already agreed. “You are serious, though? To take over London again? Under the eyes of every spy in the city?”_

 

_Jacob simply shrugs. “That’s the idea.”_

 

_Freddie chokes a laugh, louder then Jacob cares to hear, and his voice along with it.“Rediculous! This isn’t as simple as it might have appeared last time, Jacob—there is a standing shoot on sight order to anyone who looks anything like you--” He gestures helplessly at the young Frye madly. “Dresses like you! Let alone sent directly form your… your… Guild! The Templars are everywhere, all but roaring for your heads!”_

 

_Jacob holds his tongue. “I am aware of that.”_

 

_But Freddie shakes his head, animatedly. “So your grand scheme is to get yourself killed?!”_

 

“ _You should probably stop shouting now.” Was his simple reply but Freddie jerks his head around as if to look for the ears that would hear them but gives up because of their height, the dark, the hulking broad bulk of the Frye before him. Instead he whispers, fiercely, impatiently. “So do you understand the danger you’re in? What danger **I** am now in? This… this is madness!”_

 

_Jacob’s glare deepens, his sharp features pulled tight across his bones and brow as he refuses to answer the questions until Freddie utilizes his fraying brain cells to comprehend the seriousness of his request and demands. With the delicate nature of the subject as well as the voices calling out every now and again from below were enough to remind both of the necessity of putting their strengths together against their common enemy._

 

_It is a few long minutes that pass in anxious silence before the man—with a long, tired sigh—forces his tone to soften as he concedes in a subdued but harsh whisper. “Fine. Sorry.” Jacob nods accepting this apology. And with a hand gesture urges him to(quietly) continue. Who with a huff, does._

  


“ _Everyone has been told that the queen was murdered you assassins, and most every-bloody-one believes this. Now I remember who was and is truly behind it and I will tell you this, that as he sits pretty and proper with his china tea cups and his pampered flower garden that he’s going to expect one of your bold and daring approaches. He has had months to plan for every single letter in the damn alphabet while you and your ilk were doing god-only knows and now you’ve found that there won’t be a crevice unguarded for you to try to crawl through.” Jacob’s scowl returned as Freddy rubs his face with both hands, muttering through them. “I swore myself in the name of the queen to uphold England’s right and good in every law and state—and so I always will. I’ve been doing everything in my power to continue to remain behind these enemy lines without giving away my loyalties. I am not a martyr, I’m only here so that we are not left completely blind or helplessly under informed by not knowing where they will choose to strike next. So.. If I help you—and thats IF—for the love of god will you all promise to stay quiet about my involvement? Leaving me out of any problems that I simply **know** you’re going to go tripping into??”_

  


_The Frye holds out a hand with a grin, as with this Freddy is already climbed onto the bandwagon. “Deal. Besides, we’re going to be doing all the work anyways. All we’’ll need are just a few favors once in a while and your_ invaluable _input.”_

  


_A light, that hadn’t in this whole while, gleams in the constable’s eyes. Mostly from the assurance but almost imagining a blush, some must have been from the undue praise as well. He leans forward towards Jacob, looking eager. “And what exactly are you planning then, hmm?”_

  


_Jacob deadpans. “Well I’m not going to lie because when I first arrived all that I had planned was about as simple as marching straight into Buckingham Palace to find the gilded bastard, relieve him of his serpent’s head myself then proceed to open the throats of very single soul he has since appointed till I feel better. After that I suppose after setting the place on fire if I could, I was going to march right back out the doors again—with my beloved sister safely in tow.” He’s all serious as he stares at Freddy who only stares back. “But in all seriousness, no I haven’t got much else planned besides that.”_

  


_Freddy scoffs again now but he is amused. “As I thought, nothing so far. Bold and reckless with no idea, no plan and only your balls to stand on.”_

  


“ _You know me so well I could have sworn you were my sister for a moment.” He jokes to cover the brief irritation he feels, how every soul alive believed he was simply a joke. The baby faced, single minded idiot just because he could play the part. He tosses his head backward in a gesture. “And besides, Henry is calling the shots. He’s all the plans working out with what little information we have, why don’t you come help him out? I’m just the one whose job it is to get the work done. The dirty work no one else wants to do. Like finding you.”_

  


“ _You really haven’t changed a bit, you scoundrel.”_

  


“ _No. Not really. But considering how polite and honest I’ve been throughout this evening’s elopement, on a steeple top no less-”_

  


“ _Oh for gods sake, do you ever stop?”_

  


“ _With your dear friend practically begging you on his knees..”_

  


“ _You crooked fiends, with your slippery workings and devil’s deals...” Freddy was smiling relieved if not a bit annoyed._

  


“ _Say the words, Freddy dearest..” Jacob’s words teased but his eyes all at once fell seriously. The night passing them swiftly rocking them in a stiff gale._

  


_Freddy’s jovial care fades, sagging against the bricks again with his face no longer pink but paling again. He shoulders the new risks that he has accepted, stating in fact. “He knows.” Jacob can only shrug, for that didn’t matter. “..dammit, you know he does. And somehow I just know he is going to know about all this and I will lose my neck to the gallows.”_

  


_Jacob’s eyes are cold and distant, like a wolf in the wind of the chase. “Knowing isn’t going to help him because he’s dead already.” Freddy rubs his face again and nods, not believing but because he had little else to add then laughs in a sudden snort, one that sounds like the bark of a pained mule. A sound of terror from the fears of what’s to come and a choice made, so rediculous you share a same fate. Jacob grasps his shoulders sympathetically and shakes him once. Freddy gains a bit of courage, patting the Frye on the shoulder and trying to turn away, trying not to listen to Jacob mothering him. “-dead the second Henry and I set foot again in London. With that and your help and information we have from another friend, George, between the level of brilliance we’ve got now he has only months left to live. So this is the part where you tell me you know just the place for us to hide and plot so that we can finally begin.....”_

  


 

...That was how they at last obtained their safehouse to call home. Henry had been (naturally) shocked by Jacob’s good luck and they quickly accommodated the residence to their needs. Settling in and beginning to utilize Freddy’s routes, local knowledge and advice about hours of possible blindspots, wearing began to show in their temporary goodwills. As the efforts of attempting to make actual progress in their new mission, complicated by their varying points of view held them up. In the end after far too many evenings were spent in heated debates and fraying tempers, as Henry was insufferably stubborn about exercising the most anal caution in every plan or attempt of a plan. As for Jacob he was easily irritated, with his pains and impatience this they fought constantly on the virtues of reckless action vs inaction. All they could decide on was resigning to wait for George to arrive before voting on any other option of action. (Not that this stopped Jacob from sneaking out to get his own look on many different nights. And so their tempers still stood with each other. For both to (try) to cooperate was like pulling a chipped tooth from a caffienated mule, and poor Freddy quickly became quickly drawn into their one sided disagreements and tension… And just last night the constable had stormed out and forbade them from involving him until it was actually about London and not their own britches…  But this was serious. What Jacob had read on that damned paper had no words of good in it. If this had suddenly came to the knowledge of the city without hearing a whisper from the palace hats then this was something terribly worrisome. Which is why he was hunting the poor man down now.

 

 

Returning to the here and now, poor Jacob stood at last. It had taken him well over an hour to arrive before the colossal station with a long winded huff. His side stretched painfully against the motion, as he had never given the injury the care it was due and now he believed it would remain forever. A reminder of his foolishness, being gutted with his own blade, cold steel slipping between his throbbing ribs and the stones that crushed him in a defeat that was so complete that he had difficulty sleeping. Only desiring to push and push with blunt and blade to overcome any weakness he once had and become a true nightmare for the Templars that now lay before him ready to be turned inside out with his blade.

 

And as covert as he was striving to be, mingling with the rest of London’s own, meant a lot more work on his part not to sling about the city on his gauntlet rappel line or blaze through the streets in a mad carriage. The roof tops were also off limits, at least during the day. Once night fell and so long as there wasn’t a full moon out then they could cover ground that much quicker.

 

It was Jacob that insisted that they venture out into the day a few times a week. Both Henry and their recent (but not most recent) accomplice disagreed, desiring the cover of night so to best hide and gauge the city assembly. But the young Frye insisted, as the gossip of the people told much more of rumors and goings on then anything the night watch or watchmen would show. Also as the Blighters were no more, they couldn’t rely on their stupidity to gather orders or recent news anymore. All now were payed off constables and Templer orderlies, both sorts as tightlipped as a banker’s button, no easy luck here anymore.

 

 

The steep stone steps worsened the pain in his side, climbing them to reach the stations main platform where anxious Londoners waited to board and be on their way. Now his eyes worked over the sea of faces, trying as he may to not forget to look filthy and pitiful as he was disguised to be..

 

Oops, forgot that a simple beggar wouldn’t exactly have any business here except to beg, already receiving a few questioning looks for strutting so tall and proudly. So he ducked his head, threw a crook in his step and with his toothy smile limped through the long tailored overcoats and got his face full of many lady’s lace as he was bent over at the mercy of their caged skirts and blooming bottoms.

 

 

On and on it was for another quarter hour on the good clock begging poorly and searching for that damn constable whom he was searching for before the cloud of roaring smoke and metal thundered into the station. Squealing hot metal ground the great beast to a halt and he conductor immediately called for passengers to disembark, then called loudly after that there was five minutes they all had before the train would leave the station again.

 

The volume of the place suddenly increased by another hundred or so people became rather uncomfortable for poor Jacob as elbows and careless boots josseled him about rudely. How he longed to be perched up above it all, yearning for the open freedom of the sky again with a prayer towards the glass ceiling so high above and sigh.

 

 

A ruckus started on the central platform which drew his eyes back down out of curiousity, the crowds thickening towards it like carrion flies. Inspired he used this to his advantage and parted his way easily through their midst, working his way in a circle closer to the trouble where he was sure he would be. Searching for that bloody Abberline.

 

Ah ha, and there he found him shouting at the crowd to stand back, holding the line of onlookers as two other officers were dragging the disturber away and barking at the crowd to “make easy way, move it, bugger on”. With that everyone slowly receded away, since the excitement was removed and the officers seemed impatient to get back to their nothingness, their tea and their crumpits.

 

Freddy was the last to leave the scene, remaining to lecture a particularly rude onlooker about proper conduct with an officer of the law-- but Jacob(a bit impatient himself now) ambled up from behind him and gave the man a good break, and made to step heavily on the constable’s foot, speaking loudly in a rather dull voice.

 

“Some bread if you could, ma’am.” Knowing full well how Freddy would react.

 

Without disappointment Freddy yelped, rounding on him so quick with a good club to the ribs that he yelped as well, raising to his full height. Freddy had the gall to thrust his club in his face as a warning so he shoved Freddy back against the train for all his nonsense. The conductor blew the “away” horn, and great thunder and smoke enough to choke a man filled the station, drowning out most of Freddy’s fuming words as he released a tirade upon the young Frye, he could only make out bits like, “-that it’s as if you cannot mind where you walk, devil?! A man up upstanding and law-” and “-to treat me with such disrespect-!”

 

Jacob caught his cartwheeling arms with a strong hand and used his other to flip up the stupid eye patch and pulled down his tattered collar, hissing. “Maybe because it’s _me_ you idiot? Can you manage to recognize that through that thick skull of yours now?”

 

Flustered as he was with his face red as a beet and ears steaming like the train roaring away behind them, it took him a baker’s second to track down that bastard Frye’s face but he did and as he did he huffed and shoved him away. Almost in fright. “We’re not supposed to speak in public, Jacob, you’ll get me _hanged_!” Immediately glancing around for anyone to notice them both speaking.

 

Jacob gave a quick look but saw everyone was too busy with their own goings-on that no one gave a glance in their direction. So far. So he pulled Abberline away to walk towards the back end of the station, where the iron stairs could take one to the topmost level or back down towards the streets again, speaking quickly and close so to not have to raise his voice much.

 

“Have you seen the papers?”

 

“Papers?’

 

“Yes, Freddy, the daily papers that you read news on.”

 

“I’m not idiot-”

 

“You do try sometimes.”

 

“You know my nerves aren’t the healthiest anymore, that along with all-this-this-spy work of yours going on, I suspect I’ll never fully recover.”

 

“Oh, pack it in, it's not like everything is about you-"

 

“Bulls shit, Jacob, you know you’re doing just that--You really have to care about something beside your kind and your damn cult, look at the real world!-”

 

“Not _now_.” Jacob glares at him, flashing his eyes past his shoulder.

 

Freddy sighs. “Fine, what have you got?”

 

Jacob’s flitting eyes had caught the turning heads of the other officers, they had begun to watch them curiously mostly because of Freddy’s slight outburst. He aims to make this quick. “The paper declared that Starrick and his circle somehow have successfully formed a worldwide treaty. Look, it’s not just a piece of paper, Freddy, it’s in the name of their Templar’s Order and no one even knows it.”

 

Freddy paused in his walk, in more confusion then shock as Jacob had been taken with, as Freddy did not know the greatness of the ageless war that the Assassins still waged. “And whats all that got to do with us, hmm? With London? If it will then what this monster Starrick has done then I might take an interest but it can’t be.”

 

“Freddy, this means more then you understand. Think of an entire room full of bastards like him and what they are doing with the Queen’s power-?”

 

“What they could be doing or are doing Jacob? I can’t afford to chase rabbits, not with the target you’re painting on my head! Is it more important to stop him or are you hoping to use me for this secret war you have going on? On top of that if it is so important, then what is it that is so damning between your kinds? Is it power or land or what is it that is so particularly worrisome? What is it that you all have going behind the curtains with all your secrets?”

 

Here now Freddy wanted answers to questions Jacob had no time for, as one of the officers began to make his way in their direction so he could only say. “We’ll meeting about it tonight, alright? Ask all your questions there, we’re about to have company.”

 

His eyes glanced behind Freddy to warn him. “Be there--can you manage that?”

 

Abberline stiffened with distaste at being cut off but nodded. “Fine, damn you. I better get some answers.. but as you’re cutting this short you’d better make a good show, alright? I won’t hang for you. I won’t.”

 

Jacob nods and pulls up his collar with a deft snap. “See you there then. Oh and I may have slipped your picket watch.” He winks then slaps his eye patch down over his face and darts for the descending stairs. Leaping up enough that he quickly rode the smooth rail downward, he just hears Abberline behind him call out. “Stop him at once! That ingrate and pocket pinching thief! My silver watch--!” And at once the thunder of constable boots descended after him, with civilians staring or exclaiming in fright.

 

But the Assassin was already gone.

 

 

 

~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 11, 355 words. I'm putting notes at the end now so that I can keep track of these monster chapters and break them up a little better:P
> 
> P.S. A Merry Christmas to you all and a Happy New Year:))) Happy 2018!!


End file.
